


as if lighting a fire

by rumandraisins



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Oisuga Week, Pre-Relationship, Suga is in Seijoh, Third Years as First Years, and there's also, libero Suga, middle blocker Oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumandraisins/pseuds/rumandraisins
Summary: “First years, welcome to the Seijoh Boys’ Volleyball Club. Before I discuss anything else, I’d like you to state your name, the junior high team you came from and the position you play on court.”“Sugawara Koushi from Nagamushi Junior High. I’m a libero.”“Nice to meet you all, I’m Oikawa Tooru! Middle blocker from Kitagawa Daiichi. My likes include aliens, milk bread and volleyball. My dislikes include geniuses, nonbelievers and that bastard Ushiwaka so my number one goal is to crush him completely underneath my heel and all the players from Shiratorizawa along with him! Let’s all have a good year!”For OiSuga Week 2018





	1. i. for all the warriors

**Author's Note:**

> a.k.a That one time my brain went crazy and decided, you know what would be nice? If you tried to write a slow burn fic, sports anime-style even though you a) are a very impatient person and can't write slow burn if anyone _paid_ you, as evidenced by the the fact that 90% of your fics feature plots where your OTP are _already in love with each other,_ and b) have never seen another sports anime in your life, beyond Haikyuu and like, questionably, Chihayafuru. To which I was like: sounds like a terrible idea, leT'S DO IT.
> 
> But seriously, though. I don't actually play volleyball, so I really don't know what I'm doing with my life. >.< I humbly ask that you have mercy on me and also, if you would please employ a healthy amount of suspension of disbelief while reading this fic, I would be forever grateful.
> 
> Fic and chapter titles from Hikariare.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 1: After School | Role Swap

“Your seniors know who we are but first years, welcome to the Seijoh Boys’ Volleyball Club. I’m the assistant coach, Mizoguchi. Before I discuss anything else, I’d like you to state your name, the junior high team you came from and the position you play on court.”

Because the Seijoh boys’ volleyball club has two coaches. And two strings. Practicing in two different gyms. Which were about twice the size of Koushi’s old junior high gym. Separately. That’s not even counting the conditioning room and the offices whose walls were basically shelves heavy with trophies gleaming gold and silver against the afternoon sunlight. 

Koushi didn’t choose Aoba Johsai for its _athletics_ but as it stands-

“My name is Iwaizumi Hajime. I played wing spiker for Kita-Ichi.”

Whispers explode from the veritable forest of players that came to today’s try-outs. It’s _that_ Iwaizumi. Kita-Ichi’s vice-captain and one of the most powerful spikers in the prefecture. And now he’s _here,_ a first year in Seijoh, the closest thing to a rival school that Shiratorizawa has. The same Seijoh that places consistently within the best eight teams and is ranked within the top four in Miyagi. 

It seems the next three years are promising to be _explosive._

-Koushi could really have done much worse. 

It’s not intimidating exactly, all of Seijoh’s facilities and big-name recruits, but it’s definitely close. 

Koushi fists his hands tightly at his side, steps forward and just wishes he doesn’t embarrass himself. “Sugawara Koushi from Nagamushi Junior High. I’m...” He swallows, heavily aware of all the intense stares directed at _him._ He knows what he wants to say but it’s like he loses the ability to form words at that moment, being looked down on by athletes who were so much taller, so much bulkier, so much stronger than him. His heart flutters frantically against his chest, and his vision swims, greying at the edges because how, how, _how_ could he ever have thought that he could belong _here,_ that he could be something _here,_ in all places, Aoba Johsai, the Miyagi volleyball powerhouse second only to Shiratorizawa?

How stupid of you, Koushi.

How stupid. 

When he finally forces it out, it’s soft – a sigh, a fall, a feeling of surrender. “A libero.”

Seijoh _is_ intimidating, after all. He can admit that freely now as he steps back and chews on his lip, disappointed with himself and his own cowardice.

Beside him, Makki raises his eyebrows as he goes, like he _knows,_ and Koushi pays him back with a well-placed jab to the side when he steps back to his place in line. 

Makki doesn’t even have the decency to at least look remorseful about it because he is a hellspawn.

The coach continues down the line and then the next, and the next. Koushi forgets the names almost as soon as he hears them, there were so many. There’s more people _trying out_ for a place in the Seijoh team than there were members in Koushi’s old volleyball club. It’s a little sad but he’s not surprised. 

Many of them came from well-respected volleyball teams. Koushi can count with one hand the freshmen who name schools no one can recognize, his included. It’s the kind of talent Seijoh attracts, he supposes, because it’s known to be so strong.

Koushi’s still puzzling over what this means for him when the last student steps up to the front.

“Nice to meet you all, I’m Oikawa Tooru!” 

Koushi could swear the entire gym falls into a hush, all the lost attention that came with the lull of introduction after introduction returning full-force, and then doubled for good measure.

Oikawa Tooru smiles at all the wide eyes and gaping mouths and throws up a victory sign. “Middle blocker from Kitagawa Daiichi. My likes include aliens, milk bread and volleyball. My dislikes include geniuses, nonbelievers and that bastard Ushiwaka so my number one goal is to crush him completely underneath my heel and all the players from Shiratorizawa along with him! Let’s all have a good year!”

Every first year in the room shifts uneasily. 

“Oi, oi,” someone from behind Koushi says. “Wasn’t he going to Shiratorizawa?”

“Yeah, I heard Ushiwaka was after them both being teammates.”

“I saw Shiratorizawa’s coach watching his semi-final match last season! He was _definitely_ being scouted.”

“What’s he doing in Seijoh then? Is this a prank?”

“Holy shit, I have a friend who told me he was in her class this morning but I said that was impossible!”

Because Shiratorizawa had offered Oikawa Tooru a generous sports scholarship no one in their right mind can turn down for the sole purpose of pleasing their newly acquired ace. 

It’s a secret so naturally, the entire high school volleyball circuit knows all about it. 

The only player who doesn’t seem like his world has just been twisted out of its axis is Iwaizumi, who stomps towards Oikawa looking murderous and promptly deposits a fist right on top of his head. “The coach only asked for your name, position and junior high, dumbass! You didn’t need to spout the rest of all that useless information-“

“I was only trying to let them get to know the real me, Iwa-chan! I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like for those of us burdened by the shadow of our reputation- Ow!”

Iwaizumi digs his fist in even more. “You really have such a shitty attitude, you asshole.”

“That’s enough from the both of you,” Mizoguchi-sensei demands. “Fall back in line. This is a serious sports team with a clear goal for the year ahead, so anyone who’s here to play around can just walk out those doors right now and stop wasting both our times, reputation or not.”

“Trust me, coach,” Oikawa Tooru says, with the kind of face that can kill with one look. “You won’t find anyone more serious about volleyball than me.”

Mizoguchi-sensei levels him with a firm stare. 

Oikawa Tooru stares back.

The thing is, Koushi suspects not even Mizoguchi-sensei knew that Oikawa Tooru deferred Shiratorizawa for Seijoh. Oikawa Tooru wouldn’t have needed to try out if he did. He’s the best middle blocker in the prefecture. He would have made first string easy. He would probably even be a starter already. He doesn’t have anything to prove. Everyone here already knows how good he is.

And yet, here he was, someone with that kind of skill and status standing here awaiting try-outs just like the rest of them.

Maybe he has some other kind of motive that isn’t quite as altruistic as Koushi is making it out in his head. After all, Koushi didn’t really know who Oikawa Tooru was beyond his massive reputation.

But even then.

He can’t help but admire him a little, just for that.

“Fine,” Mizoguchi-sensei says, breaking his staredown with Oikawa and turning to address the entire gym. “Like I said, this is a serious team so I will only accept players who are serious about this sport. You all have the rest of the afternoon to prove that to me. We’ll start with warm ups. Go!”

  


* * *

  


Seijoh drills are _brutal._

Koushi’s junior high practice menu is nowhere near this level of intensity. In fact, Koushi might as well have spent his entire junior high volleyball career sitting in an air-conditioned room eating ice cream for all it compared to what Mizoguchi-sensei considered a _warm up._ He kind of wants to throw up a little. He does keep himself from dropping dead right into the alluring-looking gym floor on sheer willpower alone, but just barely. 

Still. 

He counts it as a win. 

At least it seems as if he’s not the only one having a hard time. The rest of the players look just as terrorized as he feels, with possibly the small exception of Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru who, although sweat-drenched and out of breath, are taking it all in stride. 

Damn well-built, talented athletes.

The second half of the afternoon is devoted to practice matches. Koushi receives a kit, along with the rest of them. His number is 13.

Oikawa Tooru’s is number 1. Obviously. He also plays in the first match so Koushi is treated to a real close-up view of his game for the very first time.

There’s nothing quite like Oikawa Tooru when he’s on court. He moves with purpose and grace. He watches his opponents like a hawk, coolly assessing their play and and immediately pouncing on even the smallest of weaknesses. When he jumps to block, he’s exactly where he needs to be to keep the ball out of his court. On the rare occasions a spike goes through, he somehow makes it so that it’s easy for any one member of his team to receive it. He directs the blockers in his line to match with the timing of his opponent’s spike so that even the most tentative player on his side of the court – a wing spiker from an unknown school – is suddenly able to transform into the perfect wall against what would have been a clean kill. 

He’s amazing.

It’s crazy how good he is. 

And then, he steps up to serve and it’s like a whole other monster is unleashed. He tosses the ball up to the quiet of everyone’s anticipation. He jumps. His arm rises. It’s over in a second. 

The ball hits the other court and bounces up to fall on the _second floor bleachers._

It’s a clear, overwhelming victory, **25-14.**

Koushi releases a breath and trembles at the notion that he might actually share the same court with this guy one day.

In comparison to the master class that was Oikawa Tooru’s volleyball, Koushi’s match is far less exciting. 

As expected, his opponent team is composed of all competent players. The second year wing spiker, number 16, seems to be the main firepower. He has a good partnership going on with the setter, number 12, probably because they came from the same junior high team, given the fact that they seem to have reached some sort of easy understanding with their signals and calls. They quickly establish a decoy system with another spiker, number 9, that has Koushi’s team scrambling to defend as they rack up points. 

On the bench, outside of play, Koushi observes.

When Koushi gets switched in, his team’s setter – a second year, number 18 – gives him one long look and then sighs. “You’re not secretly from Kita-Ichi, too, are you?” 

“No, sorry,” Koushi replies, patting his chest. “Nagamushi.”

“Just...” He looks at the scoreboard, **2-9.** “ _Try,_ maybe?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yeah, well. We can’t be losing any worse than we already are, I guess.”

“Hey, senpai!” Koushi calls, resisting the urge to punch some positivity into those slumped shoulders. He has a feeling it’s not going to be well-received and he didn’t really want to get kicked out for unsportsmanlike behavior on his first day. “The game’s not over yet. We can still do this so... loosen up a little bit. Your shoulders are tense so that’s probably why some of your tosses go off.”

His setter gapes at him, and then laughs a little disbelievingly. “They ever teach you how to respect your elders back at Nagamushi, first year?”

“You can try to beat some sense into me once we finally make it to first string?” Koushi offers impishly.

“Hell yeah, we will,” he grins, before turning to the rest of the team and clapping his hands together. “Guys! Let’s look a little more lively on court and switch gears! Our libero’s apparently a demanding little brat so why don’t we give him a show, teach him not to backtalk to his senpais, okay?”

The rest of the team calls out in agreement at that and Koushi smiles to himself at the small boost in morale. There’s not much he can do with people he doesn’t really know but at least it no longer feels like their only goal for this game is to lose with as much dignity as possible.

Koushi moves to his position and exhales slowly, fighting to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. His hands feel tingly and cold. It’s easy to talk big to help his team’s spirit because faking confidence is surprisingly simple, but he honestly doesn’t feel ready. He needs more time. He hasn’t been able to watch his opponents for very long so he can’t even spot the signals they’re using for their attack patterns. 

But.

While numbers 12 and 16 have an established bond from being on the same team before, number 9 is still quite new to his setter. It means he’s less secure, less assured about about their plays. This doubt translates itself to several furtive glances to his setter whenever the toss is meant for him, regardless of attack, like he’s trying to make sure that the ball is really supposed to go to _him._ He’s done it every single time for Koushi’s entire stay on the bench. And every single time he glances apprehensively at number 12, he gets the toss a few seconds later.

Koushi knows this much.

Koushi saw that much.

He sees this now, too – number 9 stealing glances at his setter like a middle schooler with a crush. 

Number 16 jumps first. He has so much charisma, is so fired up and ready that the blockers on Koushi’s team fall for the decoy once again while number 9 jumps from behind and spikes. 

But Koushi already knew he was going to do that.

He’s situated to receive the ball before number 9 has even touched it and Koushi passes it cleanly to his setter, who immediately goes for a quick. 

**3-9**

They score the point. 

It’s their first point in a while so Koushi thinks they can be forgiven for their cheers. Koushi, himself, is flush with it, the high of adrenaline and success.

His setter comes up to him and raises his hand. “You’re not so bad, Nagamushi. Nice receive.”

“Thanks,” Koushi says as he returns the high five.

Somehow, despite everything, the camaraderie of it, and the beginnings of something akin to respect stirring in his senior’s eyes makes Koushi feel really warm inside. 

They win their game, **25-23.**

But that’s just the icing on the cake.

  


* * *

  


“Alright, for the last game, I want numbers 1, 4...” Mizoguchi-sensei rattles off a bunch of other numbers, but none so important as the knowledge that he’s just placed Oikawa and Iwaizumi on the _same team_ in the last game that’s probably meant to be played by the people he’s got his eye on. Like a practice game between the future Seijoh regulars.

Koushi’s spent the entire afternoon playing and observing matches. He almost breathes a sigh of relief at this realization that belies the sinking feeling that also comes with the knowledge that he won’t be playing this last game and would probably not make the team at all. Or be delegated to second string, if some miracle happens to occur. 

Second string is _fine,_ Koushi assures himself forcefully. He’s expected it. He’ll just have to work hard to prove himself to Mizoguchi-sensei and the rest of his teammates. He’s used to working hard. It’s not so bad. If he tried hard enough, he might even get promoted before he becomes a second year. 

It’s not a hopeless situation. 

And if he doesn’t make the team at all...

Well, that’s not a hopeless situation, either. There’s plenty of seniors trying out. That’s totally okay. Koushi can just spend all this free time he’s allotted for the volleyball club practicing to get _into_ the volleyball club and then try again next year.

It’s not the end of the world. 

Koushi loves volleyball and he wants to play and he’s going to get there one way or another. He’s too stubborn not to. He’ll make it. Whether it’s this year or the next year or the next. He’s going to step on court and have a place on the team _before_ he graduates high school or go down kicking and screaming.

“On the other team, let’s have 12, 10...” 

Ten is Makki. Koushi shoots him a thumbs up from across the court, where Makki was sitting with his last makeshift team. Makki misses it the first time, so Koushi makes himself even more obnoxious to better attract attention. Makki catches it as he’s rising to his feet, pauses, and then gives him finger guns. 

Koushi’s smile becomes a little more real, a little less tinged with envy. 

Makki’s face, on the other hand, becomes a little more amused.

“I _said,”_ Mizoguchi-sensei booms. “And libero, number _13.”_ He’s looking right at Koushi. Angrily. Which, Koushi had sort of figured, is his default setting, but this look is even angrier than usual. 

He blinks.

Did he miss something? Was it the thumbs up to Makki? Was he too obnoxious about it, after all? He didn’t think it was so bad that he’d disrupted practice or anything, it was literally just-

Wait.

Did he just say..?

Number 13?

But that’s-

That’s-

Koushi looks down at his shirt, the numbers one and three staring placidly back at him, the same numbers he’s worn all afternoon, and had therefore been his only identifier to the coach for the duration of the try-outs.

_That’s me._

Koushi stands, but it’s like he’s not even in control of his own body anymore. “N-number 13?” he stammers out weakly.

Mizoguchi-sensei’s eye twitches. “Yes, that’s what I said. Now, are you gonna wake up and join us or am I going to have to find someone else to replace you, first year?”

“I’m awake, coach,” Koushi blurts, stumbling forward like a drunkard and not helping his case at all. He hears people snickering in the background. “I’m fine. I can play.”

“Of course you can.” He gets a hard look. “Because next time I catch you distracted in my gym, you’ll be running suicides until you’re _dead,_ you get me?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Go to your team.”

Properly chastised, Koushi inserts himself into the strategy huddle with a soft, “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be,” Makki says with a wicked sort of grin. “I just witnessed Baby’s First Lashing, and it was a _glorious_ display of exhibitionism, with a side of public humiliation-”

Koushi jabs him in the side with all the power he can muster.

Makki doubles over, coughing. “ _God,_ at least hold back a little now that we’re actually on the same team.”

“Joke’s on you, Makki,” Suga says unmercifully. “Now that I’ve successfully lured you in with my fabricated angelic persona, it’s double or nothing.”

“As fascinating as it is to suddenly turn unwilling voyeur to the exploratory mating behaviors of baby gays,” Number 12 cuts in, swaggering up to them on his long, long legs, already taller than anyone his age had any right to be. He jerks a thumb back. “We’ve got rebel without a cause and his pet beefcake waiting for us at the other side of the net and I don’t know about you guys, but I _really_ want to see what he looks like getting his ass handed to him. Preferably by me, but I’d settle for beating his team.”

And this speaks to Makki for one reason or another because he gives this crooked sort of grin that can’t be trusted by anyone and extends a hand. “Hanamaki, wing spiker.”

“Matsukawa, setter,” Number 12 says, returning the handshake with the exact same look – like they’re _twins,_ Koushi has a really bad feeling about this meet-up – before his gaze drifts down to Koushi calculatingly. “And you’re the pesky little bug that kept on ruining my plays in the first game I lost today. Think you can give Oikawa-sama the same favor?”

“Not if you keep on calling me little bug,” Koushi replies sweetly.

“I mean, I was going to say obligatory sports team uke bishounen but I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over very well.”

“What? I’m not a... a _docile BL bottom.”_

“Hey, whatever floats your boat, I’m all about the BL power bottoms.”

“ _I’m not a-_ Ohmygod. We are not having this discussion right now.”

“We’re not?” Makki asks, looking vaguely distressed. “Suga, it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed, there is nothing shameful about your kinks.”

“Makki.”

“I mean, sometimes, maybe, your kink may not be my kink, but as your current only high school friend, I want you to know-“

“Makki, shut _up.”_

“I respect the sexual deviant that resides within your soul.”

“Ohmygod.”

“Uh, guys?” another member of their team comes up meekly. “Aren’t we getting a little bit sidetracked? Because, uh... They already decided without us that, er, Oikawa-san’s team is going to serve first.”

At that announcement, Matsukawa loses the playful glint in his eye. He raises one of his considerable eyebrows and gives Koushi another searching look. “So?”

And it’s kind of a stupid question, asking Koushi if he can give Oikawa Tooru the same favor. Because they’re talking about _Oikawa Tooru,_ the ace middle blocker former captain of Kitagawa Daiichi. Oikawa Tooru, with his powerful jump serves and his natural athletic reflexes and his brilliant strategic mind. Oikawa Tooru, who brings out the best in every blocker of his team just by the virtue of being there. He’s in a completely different level from Sugawara Koushi, nobody libero from nowhere important.

Of course Koushi can’t give him the same favor.

But if anybody thought that meant he’d go into this game hopeless and helpless, then they’ve got another thing coming.

“I’ll save as many as I can for you,” Koushi says, raising his chin challengingly. “So I guess the question now is, will you be able to make full use of the balls I’m giving you?”

“Don’t worry about it, uke bishounen.” Matsukawa looks like he’s thinking of patting Koushi’s head for further point emphasis but then decides against it. Good for him, because if he put his hand anywhere near the vicinity of Koushi’s mouth, he’s not gonna be responsible for what he does. He’s feeling really twitchy right at the moment. “Tearing down a block with your own two hands is a pleasure only a setter understands.”

_I know, _Koushi almost says, but doesn’t. He doesn’t roll his eyes, either, which is rather generous of him, considering.__

__“I’m counting on you, then.” He turns to survey the court, where the members of the other team are slowly getting themselves into position. “And my name is _Sugawara._ ”_ _

__Beyond the service line, Oikawa Tooru is thoughtfully bouncing the ball. He looks up when Mizoguchi-sensei blows his whistle and throws Koushi’s team yet another one of his disarming smiles. “Let’s have a good game,” he calls._ _

__It’s sounds more like a threat than anything._ _

__Koushi relaxes his clenched fist, first one, then the other, and exhales slowly._ _

__The whistle sounds and Oikawa’s smile turns deadly as he tosses the ball._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- To be honest, I didn't know how to role swap the two of them because I was like: but... they're both... setters...? HALP. And then switching their captaincy is kinda not different enough because like, they're still technically in leadership positions so. But then I also didn't want Suga to be the great setter who has a hang up against geniuses and Oikawa to be the senior who was replaced but is still trying his best to support his team because I... couldn't. A better writer can sell it, but not me. So I finally decided, you know what, I'll interpret this prompt as loosely as possible and just swap their roles in the volleyball court... with other people! (And also put Suga in Seijoh because I have a Dream, why not.) So yeah, haha, Suga's a libero (sorry, Watacchi! I love you!) and Oikawa's a middle blocker now and because I had to fill the gaping hole his departure from setter-dom had placed in Seijoh's lineup, I flipped a coin. I'm a terrible writer.
> 
> \- Judging from the fact that it's a powerhouse school and its expansive cheering section (who are wearing jerseys but are not in the bench), I'm operating under the belief that Seijoh runs a much more structured volleyball club than Karasuno does. That includes try-outs and strings, and I'm really trying to work with this even though I have, like, zero knowledge about organized sports. Thank you for bearing with me and just... rolling with it. It's fine. We're fine. (#not fine)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: ii. bear your dreams like a cross


	2. ii. bear your dreams like a cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 2: Fortune | ~~Mermaid AU~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your friendly reminder to take your daily dose of suspension of disbelief to combat the utter lack of firsthand experience that was direly needed for this fic but that the author ignored because of a grievous shortage of self-preservation.

All men are not created equal.

Some are born luckier than others.

Case in point: Ushijima Wakatoshi is a prodigy who came out of his mother’s womb in perfect spiking form, blessed by the lady of fortune and the gods of volleyball. Oikawa Tooru is not. 

Oikawa Tooru, who had asked for a volleyball net to be erected in his backyard at eight years old and denied all other playground adventures ever since. Oikawa Tooru, who had stayed behind after practice _every single day_ to practice the jump serve he’d started learning because he thought it would be cool and kept on developing because he discovered how deadly a weapon it was to have in his arsenal. Oikawa Tooru, who is probably on his way to permanently sacrificing his own _knee_ to be able to enjoy the sport that he loves. 

Oikawa Tooru who, despite being named the best middle blocker of the prefecture, had never totally and unquestionably shut down any of Ushiwaka’s kills even _once._

And then, as if he hadn’t caused Tooru enough aggravation, this golden boy, this perfect specimen of humanity, he had the actual _guts_ to approach Tooru and ask him to _‘join me’_ in his team of superior athletes who will change the face of Japanese volleyball and conquer the world. 

Or some other such nonsense. Tooru tends to tune Ushiwaka out once he starts opening his mouth.

Because whatever else Ushiwaka thinks about him, they were _not the same._ They didn’t run from the same starting line. They weren’t standing on even ground. Tooru has had to claw his way to everything – to a court, to a good team, to every single recognition Ushiwaka takes as his _birthright_ and now he wants Tooru to just conveniently forget about all of that and fall to his knees in gratitude of his esteem?

As if.

“So let me get this straight,” Iwa-chan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re turning down Shiratorizawa’s scholarship offer _just_ so you can piss in the face of Ushijima Wakatoshi?”

And Tooru knows that Iwa-chan is trying to paint it in the most horrible way possible but really, “You know what, Iwa-chan? When you put it like that, it just makes me want to do it _more._ ”

“You’re an idiot, Shittykawa.”

“Rude,” Tooru sniffs, snatching the Shiratorizawa Academy brochure from his best friend before he decides it’s a good enough weapon to use to get Tooru to see reason – the obvious and undeniable purpose of this visit. “I just want you to know that I know for a _fact_ that my mom sent you to talk to me so-“

“Clearly she was right to be concerned if you’re making high school decisions based on volleyball grudges.”

“It’s a legitimate reason!” Tooru cries, tearing at the brochure a little. “I can’t help that Shiratorizawa is just not a good fit for me!”

“What is this, a job?”

“It’s the rest of my life!”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, and excuse me if I don’t want to spend it as _just another lackey_ in Ushijima Wakatoshi’s dream team!”

Iwa-chan quiets at that, although he’s still scowling, the stubborn brute. He looks at Tooru thoughtfully for a long moment and then sighs. “Well, if you’re not going to Shiratorizawa, did you at least think about where you _want_ to go?”

Tooru peers at his best friend cautiously. “What school is Iwa-chan going to?”

“Seijoh,” he says, narrowing his eyes in a way that tells Tooru that he’s got a vague idea of where this was going and he doesn’t like one bit.

Tooru smiles. Aoba Johsai is usually the natural progression of Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball players so he’s not surprised about Iwa-chan’s choice. It’s a good school. In the recent seasons, as far as Tooru knew, Seijoh has made it to the finals of the Interhigh and Spring High preliminaries every time, only ever losing to Shiratorizawa. 

“Okay. I’ll go there, too!” Tooru announces happily.

“That’s not a good enough reason to choose a high school, _either,_ Idiotkawa!”

“But Iwa-chan, don’t you want to spend your springtime of youth with your one and only-“

“Nope,” Iwa-chan cuts in dryly. “Not with my idiot friends.”

“Iwa-chan, you only have one friend,” Tooru reminds him pityingly.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll soon happily have zero friends.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru complains, brandishing the Shiratorizawa brochure like a sword.

The sight of it makes Iwa-chan sober up immediately. He sits back and looks at Tooru with a sharp gaze that misses nothing, snatching the brochure out of his hands and smoothing it out. The first page is a list of institutions partnered with or allied to the Shiratorizawa Group. It’s a considerable list, including but not limited to, some big universities with powerhouse teams. “You’re sure about this.”

It’s not a question.

“Yes,” Tooru nods seriously anyway.

“I just don’t want you making a decision you’ll end up regretting, you know.”

Tooru grins, the fire of competition licking pleasantly in his blood. “Let’s beat Shiratorizawa, then,” he declares confidently. “I won’t have anything to regret in that case, right?”

“Idiot,” Iwa-chan snorts, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to tack your selfish reasons onto it. I was planning on doing that, anyway.”

“Okay, then it’s decided!” Tooru raises his hand. “Let’s become-“

“The number one team in Japan,” Iwa-chan finishes savagely. He returns Tooru’s high five with a grin of his own and even though that wasn’t what Tooru wanted to say, it still feels like a promise. 

One day.

The number one team in Japan. 

Really, Iwa-chan.

But at the same time.

Maybe.

It just might be possible.

_One day._

  


* * *

  


**0-0**

The serve toss is decent but that’s the only good thing Tooru can say about it. Still, he aims for the spot between the other team’s libero and spiker and puts as much power into it as he can.

The libero straightens up from his ready position almost as soon as the ball goes over the net. He calls, “Out,” raising his hands. Sure enough, the ball lands just shy of the line and the other team earns the first point of the last game of the day.

**1-0**

“Sorry!” Tooru grits out frustratedly. 

But at the same time, he takes notice. 

Tooru’s serves aren’t as accurate as he would like and he knows it. It’s why he’s still practicing on them so hard. A strong serve wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t going to land inside the court. It’s less of a threat. It’s not good enough. From his initial toss, he’d already suspected this one wasn’t going to go well, but the course was still good and the ball was barely out of bounds. No one could have been able to tell the difference. 

But that libero had been so confident in his call, he didn’t even try to go after it. 

How? 

What did he see?

Was it just a lucky call or..?

He feels the prickle of a focused gaze and finds the libero watching him steadily.

Did he know because he was watching... _me?_

Tooru narrows his eyes. 

Initially, he’d thought that his biggest problem from the other team would be their setter. He was easily the tallest of all the first years, with a quick, cunning mind that lended itself to tricky plays. Not to mention the fact that Tooru had heard quite a number of other players talk about how intimidating he was on court throughout the course of the afternoon. He’d forgotten what junior high he came from, but Tooru was sure that he’d be seeing more of this setter in the next few years. 

But the libero...

Maybe he needs to start paying attention to him, too.

Number 13. 

He exchanges a glance with Iwa-chan.

_We’ll see what you’re made of._

  


* * *

  


**8-14**

It’s halfway through the game when the setter proves Tooru right and steadily starts turning himself into a persistent nuisance. He’s as crafty as he is unreadable. A towering presence on the other side of the net, he intimidates the other members of Tooru’s team just by standing there looking bored. He finds his groove with that spiker, Number 10, so that whenever Tooru is switched out, they slowly begin playing around with the remaining defenses of his team. 

**10-16**

Tooru taps his foot restlessly in the sidelines. 

It doesn’t help, of course, that Tooru’s own libero is nothing like the observant little shit that Number 13 is turning out to be. He just always happens to insinuate himself into the course of the ball, an almost forgettable member of the play until the moment when he disrupts Tooru’s team from making what, seconds ago, they had believed to be a sure point. 

**11-17**

No matter how high their score difference is, every single one of Number 13’s saves boosts his team’s morale considerably. They would have already started to realize the inevitability of their defeat, otherwise. He’s just so... _bright_ and... _refreshing._

**12-17**

It’s annoying.

**14-18**

Well, then, Tooru decides as he gets back on court. He’s just going to have to completely shut them down.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru gestures to his best friend and their setter. “Come here for a moment.”

The thing about Number 12 is that he’s a good setter, but he’s not perfect. He has the tendency to hesitate on quicks when the pass is off, preferring plays with a slower tempo instead. It’s not glaringly obvious, because at the level they’re playing, the situation often pans out in a way that first touch is either a decent enough receive or not a receive at all. Plus, he has Number 13, who Tooru can painfully, begrudgingly admit is a good libero. 

But it’s obvious enough, to someone who is looking.

And Tooru has been marking his tosses since the beginning of the game.

Iwa-chan jumps for the toss and aims for the spot between two back row players. The trajectory of the ball causes them both to hesitate to receive and Number 13, predictably, lunges for an imperfect dig between his two momentarily-frozen teammates. He manages to save the ball but- 

“Jump when I say,” Tooru instructs his teammate, crouching.

-the pass is off.

With their current rotation, at least three people can receive the set – a precarious decision for any one blocker. 

But.

“Ready and...” 

Number 12 hesitates. 

“Now.”

The ball makes contact with Tooru’s hand and drops back to the opposing court with a satisfying _bang._

**14-19**

The fact that Number 13 had tried to save it, but couldn’t, just makes the point all the more sweeter. He gets up, brushing himself off before turning to Tooru slowly. 

Tooru smirks.

He smiles thinly in reply. “We’re doing that again.”

Standing between Number 10 and Number 12, his threat feels even more comical, with his small stature and his fluffy, silvery hair and his big eyes and his round face. He’s like a child throwing a tantrum. It’s cute, in the same way that six-year-old Iwa-chan’s misguided bug fixation was cute. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to throw away points, but be my guest,” Tooru answers easily.

“Look out for it, then,” he declares, stomping back towards his position in the back row. 

Tooru’s a little irritated about the fact that Number 13 didn’t even wait for Tooru to have the last word when he had been the clear victor of that round, but he figures he can just let his volleyball speak for itself. 

Except Number 13’s promised repeat doesn’t happen and he gets switched out soon after. 

**15-19**

Figures. 

Of course they wouldn’t do it again. Tooru’s already seen through it. No sensible strategist would repeat a situation they already know is bound to fail. Not exactly, anyway. If it ever happens again before the end of this match, it’s gonna be different in some way, and they both know that. Most probably, number 12 is going to try for a quick, now that this weakness has been pointed out to him. 

Obviously.

If Number 13 plans on becoming an efficient trash talker, he should start by getting better at making bluffs. 

Or at the very least, making ones that actually sound believable to people who weren’t stupid.

**18-21**

He almost misses it when it happens. 

Iwa-chan spikes the ball and Number 13, newly switched in, is there and waiting for it. Except, even though he’s perfectly positioned for the receive, he fumbles his way through it and as a result, the pass is off. 

What the hell. 

Tooru’s jaw almost drops at his sheer audacity of purposefully botching the receive just so he can make good on his threat.

Two spikers run up to the net and Tooru almost snorts. 

Like that’ll trick anyone, least of all Tooru.

He jumps to block the quick.

From his position in the air, looking down over the other side of the court, Tooru catches Number 13’s smile.

Because.

It’s not a quick.

Number 12 sets to the spiker right behind the _decoy_ and this time, the ball drops unhindered to Tooru’s side of the court. Tooru can’t even hear his teammates lunging for it and failing, because Number 13’s words are echoing in his head, over and over.

 _We’re doing that again._

That. Little. Shit.

**19-21**

“I thank you for your hospitality, Oikawa-san,” Number 13 says, with a wide, shit-eating grin. “It’s been much appreciated.”

Tooru barely restrains himself from jumping over the net and clawing his face out, sportsmanship be damned. 

The next kill they send Tooru’s way, he blocks so hard it’s practically a _meteor_ falling from the sky.

**19-22**

And then, it’s his turn to serve. 

Tooru breathes deeply, spinning the ball in his hands and getting a feel for it with his palms. He hasn’t been having much luck with his serves this game. When he thinks about it, though, it’s only that first time that had been a genuine miss. Every time after that, he’s just been too aggravated by that libero and those twins from The Shining, Numbers 10 and 12, to get his focus where he needs to be. 

Mizoguchi-sensei blows the whistle.

Tooru throws the ball up – _oh, that’s a good toss_ – and jumps. 

The serve rockets to the other side of the court, and hits home. 

Not one member of the opposing team even manages to move a muscle. 

**19-23**

“Yes!” Tooru cheers, clenching his hands into fists, and accepting the congratulatory pats on the back and Iwa-chan’s high five. 

He meets Number 13’s gaze from across the court and lifts his chin superiorly. 

The next serve he deliberately aims towards him, that annoying little hero, _show me how good you are._

Like before, the other team can’t seem to even react at the face of his power and Tooru’s point goes uncontested.

**19-24**

That’s really too bad, Tooru thinks, although they did put up a good fight. 

It makes him optimistic about the future of this team he’s joining, if there’s players like this who are still trying out that can really make him sweat. He might hate their guts and want to accidentally push them them off a cliff, but at the very least, they know how to pull their weight. 

It was a good show.

But.

Tooru serves.

It’s over.

**19-**

Number 13 gets under the ball and sends it flying up. 

Tooru watches, wide-eyed, as it veers wildly off-court and members of the opposing team chase it down.

They connect, but it’s a bad pass. The ball flies too close to the net. Number 10 goes to push it over, but Iwa-chan is there. He gets his hand on the ball at the same time Number 10 does and for a few heart-stopping milliseconds, Tooru actually believes the other team will take this rally, which means his team will then have to score the winning point while _he is on the bench._

No way.

He runs for the cover, barely fighting back the mounting frustration. 

The ball slips.

_No._

_Way._

Tooru dives.

It tips with surprising force right onto-

Number 10 gives a low cry. 

-the other side of the net.

Number 13 and a bunch of other players drop desperately after it, but it’s too late.

**19-25**

The game is over. 

The game is over, but it ended in a completely different way than Tooru had thought it would. He lets out a breath and rolls onto his back where he fell on the court, listening to his team cheer. He accepts Iwa-chan’s hand with good grace and lets his best friend pull him up as they revel in their victory. Across from them, Number 13 is patting his teammates on the back, smiling sadly as they exchange commiserations.

He’s nothing particularly special, Number 13. 

But.

Number 13 meets his eyes and Tooru gives him a wink. He doesn’t even look flustered, or at the very least, taken aback by it, like Tooru had expected him to. He raises his brows and then gives Tooru a wink back instead. 

Tooru sniffs and raises his chin in response to the obvious challenge.

_He’s interesting enough, I suppose._

  


* * *

  


There are three first years that make it to Seijoh’s first string.

The first two are Tooru and Iwa-chan, of course. 

The third is Sugawara Koushi.

When the name is called, Number 13 emerges from the sea of hopefuls, looking wide-eyed and pale-faced and nowhere close to the scheming bastard that had so irritated Tooru in his last match. 

_Sugawara Koushi._

Tooru turns the name over in his head. It doesn’t sound familiar at all. He hadn’t expected it to, because if Tooru had ever fought against him and he had played like that, Tooru would have been able to remember him. 

Did he just get into volleyball then?

If he’s already this good after having only picked up volleyball for a day, or a week or whatever, that would make him a prodigy and Tooru wants nothing to do with him. 

But he doesn’t remember anyone saying they were new to volleyball when they were introducing themselves, and anyway, what casual volleyball player would lack the common sense to try out for _Seijoh,_ when it was so obviously a competitive team? 

No, Sugawara Koushi played in junior high, he just wasn’t in a good enough school to ping in Tooru’s radar.

Which is really curious.

After all, how could a libero of that quality end up wasting his junior high away in a no name team?

“I’m looking forward to sharing the court with you both, Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” he greets, politely, looking so angelic and... _bright_ and... _refreshing,_ he’s blinding. 

Iwa-chan, the traitor, softens up at that smile and grunts, nodding at him in acknowledgement.

Tooru wants to hiss, he’s a fucking _siren,_ complete with the urge to cover Iwa-chan’s ears so he doesn’t get bewitched because sirens only _look_ innocent; they’re actually really evil and they eat your souls. But of course, Iwa-chan won’t take kindly to that, not in front of everyone like this and especially not in front of their coach.

Tooru raises his brow at Sugawara Koushi’s sweet, cherubic face and thinks, _I know exactly what kind of terrible personality you’re hiding beneath that mask and you can’t fool me._

Sugawara tilts his head in what he probably thinks is a charming, adorable manner. 

Tooru sniffs. “Just as long as you can keep yourself from slowing me down too much...” He narrows his eyes at that radiant, open face.

And gets struck with inspiration. 

He smiles winsomely. “Mr. Refreshing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- What do you mean my interpretation of the prompt was sloppy and near-nonexistent at best? Hahaha what, no, what are you talking about, it's totally- Look! OiSuga makeout session in the rain! -runs away-
> 
> \- Libero replacements are actually called... well, replacements. I just use the word switch because it physically pains me to say 'Suga is getting replaced.'
> 
> \- I know Suga getting into Seijoh's first string as a first year is wildly different from his character arc in canon, but hear me out, okay. The thing is Suga is smart, incredibly perceptive and unobtrusive in his play (as in, he comes up with tactics that are effective but not flashy in the way of KageHina's quick or Noya's Rolling Thunder), which, according to the commentary about Yaku as a libero, are very important traits of an actual good libero (and that Noya, being his awesome Noya self, is actually the exception and not the rule). He just doesn't have as much experience. But just because Suga is a good libero here, doesn't necessarily mean he's a good anything else. There are parts of Suga's perceived backstory that I changed to put Suga in the place that he is right now, and we'll get to that, dw. (Although I do freely admit that there are some parts of Suga's play style that I'm over-stressing here because I firmly believe that Suga is a thinking, analytical player who can prove himself an exceptional asset to the team if he's only given half the chance, like remember his five second substitution in their first game at Nationals where he was like I know this guy has a habit of doing this, therefore I will do that and he was so badass for like one frame??? I love him so much, okay, fuckin fite me.) (Actually, please don't fite me. I'm not mentally built for this atm. I am massively self-indulgent, please just let me live TT^TT)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: iii. burns your life as its catalyst


	3. iii. burns your life as its catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 3: Infirmary | ~~Bookshop AU~~

The circus of Koushi’s first few months of practice can be perfectly and concisely summarized with just one word.

Fangirls.

“Oikawa-san!”

“Look over here!”

“Give us a good serve!”

“But we’re not even serving?” Koushi points out quite reasonably from his place close to the mob, getting ready for warm up. “I don’t understand.”

Beside him, Iwaizumi heaves a long-suffering sigh and then cracks his knuckles. “Right. Do you see the bastard anywhere, Sugawara?”

Koushi surveys the gym. “Not yet.”

“Well, if you find him before me, tell him to start digging his grave.”

“Ah, see, that’s a problem because I don’t think he can do that if I’ve already killed him myself, Iwaizumi-san.”

And strangely enough, Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru’s best friend since childhood and the arguably better half of their fearsome volleyball duo, just looks at Koushi approvingly at that. He shrugs. “Fair enough. But if you ever need help hiding the body...”

Koushi grins back. “Kinda sounds like you’re speaking from experience. Should I be concerned?” 

“Not you, you don’t.”

“You know what’s really _weird?”_ Oikawa suddenly sidles between the two of them with a saccharine smile that’s practically dripping poison. “I was just passing by, you know, randomly, totally innocent and unsuspecting, without any kind of devious motive whatsoever and what did I happen to stumble into but my other fellow first years _bonding_ over what sounds like an elaborate plan for my....” He pauses. “ _Murder._ Isn’t that _weird?”_

“Shittykawa, you-“

“Oikawa-san!” 

“Ohmygod, he’s here!”

“Where? Where is he?”

“Over there!”

“Look over here, Oikawa-san!”

The crowd goes wild. 

The rest of the team kind of just stare in awe at the sheer number of girls that have found their way into the gym, brandishing fans with the word _Love!_ on them and surrounded by several small hearts. Koushi sees the captain actually shed a tear. 

“There’s girls in our gym,” someone says from behind them. “Actual _girls._ Is this a _dream?”_

Of course, despite the team’s obvious approval, there’s one person who’s more angry about this new development that anyone else.

“OIKAWA!” Mizoguchi-sensei explodes, just as soon as he enters the gym. “Remember that talk we had yesterday about this being a _closed_ practice?!”

Koushi honestly thinks that half the reason why Mizoguchi-sensei is as angry as he seems is because he feels the need to compensate for Irihata-sensei, Seijoh’s head coach, who had been surprisingly mellow when informed about the gym’s sudden and uncontrollable infestation.

“Don’t worry, sensei!” Oikawa waves at their assistant coach enthusiastically, like he doesn’t know exactly how close he is to several potential of causes of death. “I’ve got it.”

And then he proceeds to sweet talk the battalion into retreating for the day without even a single hint of protest or complaint from any of them, when everyone else who’d tried to get them to back off had barely managed to escape with their head still on their shoulders. It’s like magic. 

_“How.”_ Koushi asks in mystification as they start their laps.

“Well, Mr. Refreshing,” Oikawa says smugly, still on about that stupid nickname Koushi can’t seem to persuade him to get rid of. First uke bishounen, now Mr. Refreshing. Really, what the hell is up with the people in Seijoh? He didn’t think Sugawara was _that_ forgettable. “The most important thing to remember about talking with girls is to never let them know that you are vulnerable.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. 

Koushi, on the other hand, highly doubts that’s the most accurate advice about girl interaction he’s heard, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“They’re like sharks. They can smell blood in the water from a mile away.”

“Actually, that’s a myth,” Koushi says before his better instincts can stop him. “Sharks just have the same sensitivity to smell as any other fish, so.”

“No one likes a know-it-all, Mr. Refreshing.”

“As opposed to a vapid, shallow, self-absorbed idol?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “He got you there.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa gasps, offended. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side!”

“I’m never on your side, Shittykawa.”

“Mean. I can’t believe this is how you repay me for being your one, true friend.”

“Honestly, I think _I’m_ the one doing the world a favor by corralling you, but you don’t see me asking for handouts, do you?”

_“Iwa-chan.”_

And so it goes. 

They bicker a lot, for two people whose respective strengths compliment the other. 

Perhaps the strangest thing about this whole experience is getting to know _the_ Oikawa and Iwaizumi beyond the reputation that precedes the both of them, because they turned out quite differently from what he was expecting.

Iwaizumi is straightforward and occasionally grumpy, but an actual softie underneath all the bluster. He’s universally acknowledged by the team as Oikawa’s primary handler and everyone’s long since stopped questioning his near supernatural abilities of Oikawa wrangling. 

Oikawa is, in comparison, a lot less straightforward. He likes to act flighty and careless and occasionally childish and somehow, it fools an incredible amount of people into letting down their guard, even after they’ve seen him when he steps onto the court and that flippant, immature front melts away to a focus that’s sharpened to a point and frightening in its intensity.

It’s brilliant, watching him pull it all off with a smile and a wink.

One rumor that’s apparently true, though: Oikawa hates Ushijima with a passion.

And he really was part of the reason why Oikawa is now playing in Seijoh’s team.

Mattsun didn’t even look surprised when he told him and Makki about it, after practice inside the second string gym.

“If it’s that guy,” he said, tossing the ball for Makki to spike. They were working on matching tempo for an A quick. “He’s definitely petty enough to do something like that.”

Koushi’s not really sure if it’s pettiness that causes Oikawa to keep up with even the smallest news filtering out of Ushiwaka’s team, but what does he know.

The day it gets out that Shiratorizawa beat a university team during a practice match, Oikawa stomps into the gym with a black cloud looming over his head. “You, Mr. Refreshing,” he snaps his fingers, pointing at Koushi. “Come here. I wanna talk to you.”

“Oh, yes, Oikawa-san. Of course, Oikawa-san. Right away, Oikawa-san. I’ll drop everything for you, Oikawa-san. However may I be of service, Oikawa-san?” Koushi panders, dropping the volleyballs he’s been collecting into the cart with deliberate slowness, one for every statement.

Oikawa’s left eye twitches but he otherwise ignores Koushi’s sarcasm, which is never a good sign. “I’ve been meaning to ask, our game in the try-outs? The first point you got, you called out almost as soon as I finished serving and you weren’t even looking at the ball. How’d you know?”

“I...” Koushi trails off, taken aback. That game had been quite a while ago. He didn’t expect Oikawa to still remember that kind of thing, not when they’ve played a lot of other practice matches ever since. Not when Oikawa’s been steadily improving his accuracy under the guidance of Irihata-sensei and the senpais. “I guessed?”

“Don’t give me that,” Oikawa scoffs, tapping his foot impatiently. “We both know you didn’t get into first string by being stupid, so out with it.”

Koushi blinks. Did Oikawa just... indirectly call him a smart player? 

...Wow. 

It’s weird, because Oikawa obviously hadn’t deliberately said it or meant to do it and he’s loath to give out compliments to Koushi, especially, most of the time. But still. Knowing he’s earned the regard, however little it may be, of someone he’d admired from afar, someone he now tentatively considers a comrade-in-arms, fighting in the same court for the same goal, it-

It feels warm. 

It’s a quiet burst of feeling, a small, tiny flame that desperate and drowning junior high Koushi could never even imagine he would have and maybe Oikawa thinks nothing of it, immersed as he is in his rivalry with one of Japan’s rising athletic golden boys. Maybe for him, it’s just another throwaway comment in a conversation he could be having with literally anyone else. But to Koushi, who had loved volleyball even when he wasn’t good enough for it, it feels... really nice.

So Koushi does think carefully about Oikawa’s question, despite the fact that his delivery could have used quite a bit of work. It’s the least he can do. “I watched you all afternoon, Oikawa-san,” he explains thoughtfully. “And I realized that sometimes, you can already tell the serve is gonna be bad before you even jump. Something goes missing when you do, like you subconsciously hold yourself back because you already know it’s not going to turn out well anyway. I noticed it happening, that first point so I called it. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but...” Koushi shrugs. 

It had been a gamble, but he saw the chance to deal a psychological blow if it worked out in his favor so he took it. Why not.

“So what? What are you telling me here?” Oikawa demands, sounding almost a little hysterical. “You’re saying I should work on improving my serves in times when my serve toss is off?” 

“Um.” 

Koushi had thought he was answering Oikawa’s question? He wasn’t really... saying anything.

“What do you think I do in practice, Mr. Refreshing? Twiddle my thumbs and knit? Obviously, I _already_ knew that. I’ve been _working_ on it. So now, I’ve just wasted five minutes of my time and unless you actually have something consequential to say, this conversation is officially _useless.”_ He throws his hands up in the air and stomps away in the direction of the captain.

This is what he gets for indulging the tantrum. 

Koushi turns to where Iwaizumi is also gathering stray volleyballs. “Is he okay?”

“Don’t worry. He gets like that when he’s competitive.” Iwaizumi throws a ball at him.

Koushi catches it and places it in the cart. “Isn’t he competitive all the time?”

“Extra competitive,” Iwaizumi amends. “It’s probably because of that rumor about Shiratorizawa’s practice match.”

“He hates Ushiwaka that much?”

“He wants to beat him,” Iwaizumi says, bending down to collect another ball. “So do I, actually, because there’s me and four other people standing on the court facing Ushijima and his team, same as him. But he kinda forgets that whenever he’s busy being an idiot.”

“Isn’t he also an idiot all the time?”

Iwaizumi grins, but it’s the melancholy kind, sad and helpless all at once. He tosses Koushi another ball and when Koushi gets a look on his face again after he’s deposited it into the cart, it’s already been replaced by Iwaizumi’s usual scowl. 

“Now you’re getting it.”

But Koushi doesn’t have a rival so he doesn’t get it, not really.

He just knows that every day, Oikawa asks to stay behind in the gym after everyone else has gone home. Iwaizumi makes an occasional fuss over it, and Oikawa responds by making a big production about announcing to the world how cute _Iwa-chan_ was, and how much he _cares about me!!_

But then, even after all of that, he stays behind anyway. Like always. 

Koushi stays behind to practice and hang out with Makki and Mattsun in the other gym, too. They’re a perfect trio – a libero, a setter and a spiker – so it works out well. Makki and Mattsun’s collective goal is to get promoted to first string when the seniors retire after the Interhigh so they can enter the Spring High tournament, even if it’s just as reserves. Since Oikawa is the only first year who managed to make the starting lineup, the three of them will all be in the same boat by then. 

Sometimes, Koushi begs off practice with the two of them so he can spend his evening standing unsurely outside the doors of the first gym. He can hear the squeak of sneakers from the inside, and the slam of balls as Oikawa tirelessly works on his serve and thinks about just coming in and demanding Oikawa to let him try and receive them. 

Thinks about coming in and saying, _enough._

_Maybe rest for a little while._

_You’re straining yourself, don’t you know?_

Koushi is his teammate. He’s seen who Oikawa is after the shine of his legend has faded with daily exposure, knows now that he’s human, after all, and that the accolades that come with his name didn’t just come to him overnight. 

He’s allowed to care, isn’t he?

Even if they still don’t know each other all that well, isn’t he allowed to care?

Isn’t that what being a team means?

But whenever he works up the nerve, the bubble that Oikawa surrounds himself with when he trains by himself is a strong repelling force screaming _stay away._ It’s a loud, consuming thing and if even Iwaizumi can’t fight against it, then obviously neither can Koushi.

So he just waits outside, pretending he’s not thinking about how creepy he’s being, until Oikawa’s had enough and starts packing up for the night. It’s one set of footsteps moving around an indoor volleyball court meant for twelve and even though no volleyball player in Japan will ever expect to pity Oikawa Tooru, Koushi can’t help but think about how it all sounds so very lonely.

  


* * *

  


The very next day, Oikawa shows up to practice in pain.

He hides it well, because Koushi is beginning to see that he’s rather good at that. It doesn’t help that Iwaizumi had to stay behind for a bit with his class rep so there’s no one to keep Oikawa on his metaphorical short leash. Koushi only notices because he happened end up on the front of the receiving line during Oikawa’s turn to serve, much to Oikawa’s obvious displeasure.

He still hasn’t quite gotten rid of his tendency to freeze up a bit when he predicts that the serve isn’t going to go well. Koushi straightens up and doesn’t even try to move for the ball. “Out,” he calls, looking to Oikawa to emphasize the point he made during their _useless_ conversation. 

As a result, he sees it clearly – Oikawa landing from his jump and wincing, hands briefly dropping to his knees. 

He covers it up immediately with a scowl directed at Koushi and a fierce, _“Working on it.”_

He’s favoring his landing leg slightly as he returns to the back of his line but halfway through, he fixes his gait and starts walking normally again. Clearly, he’s planning to keep on practicing like nothing was happening.

A hand lands on Koushi’s shoulder. “Sugawara.” It’s the team’s starting libero, his brows furrowed with concern at Koushi’s momentary distraction. “Something wrong?”

Koushi hesitates. Remembers countless evenings of trying and failing to cut in on Oikawa’s rapidly devolving unhealthy training habits, remembers _stay away_ and the look on Oikawa’s face when they’ve first been announced as first string, telling Koushi that his expectations of him only boil down to _keep yourself from slowing me down._

Everything in Koushi wants to say no, nothing’s wrong, and just go back to practice and stop meddling in business Oikawa doesn’t want anyone to be meddling in. It’s the path of least resistance, after all. His life will be much simpler that way. Or, at the very least, less conflict-prone. Oikawa’s certainly not going to thank him for his concern, not when he, himself, thinks said concern isn’t warranted.

But.

He can’t.

Because he’s an idiotic meddler who can’t leave anything alone and one day, his comeuppance will be great and punishing. 

But he’ll think about that when it comes.

Koushi squares his shoulders and sets his chin determinedly. “Koga-senpai,” he says, clenching his hands into fists. “I need to speak to Irihata-sensei.”

The furrow between Koga-senpai’s brows deepens even more, but he dismisses Koushi from the drill with a short nod and thankfully no questions. 

Irihata-sensei is in the front end of the gym, discussing plays with the captain. Koushi waits a respectful distance for their conversation to be finished. Yanagida-buchou looks surprised to find him there, but Irihata-sensei doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Sugawara-kun, right?”

“Captain, Irihata-sensei,” Koushi says with no preamble. “Oikawa-san needs to go to the infirmary.”

Irihata-sensei’s mouth flattens into a straight line as both men turn to Koushi’s drill group in search of the aforementioned player.

“Why?” Yanagida-buchou asks, clearly bewildered. “Is he sick? He doesn’t look injured...”

“He strained his right knee after practice yesterday.”

Irihata-sensei’s turns back to look at Koushi at that. “And why are you the one telling me this instead of him, Sugawara-kun?” 

“Because he’s Oikawa.” His name is reason in and of itself. “Sensei, I know... I know it doesn’t look like it now, but if he keeps on hiding it and practicing through it the way he is right now, I’m worried that it could turn into a much more serious injury in the future. What if... what if he ends up having to stop playing volleyball?”

And Irihata-sensei didn’t become the head coach of the second most powerful team in Miyagi for nothing. He knows just how serious knee injuries can be, especially for middle blockers like Oikawa, whose role in the court is essentially based on _jumping._

The face Oikawa makes when he gets called over and given a thorough dressing down for being careless about his body’s limits is indescribable. 

“...and let the nurse have a look at you,” Irihata-sensei finishes. He shoots a glance at where Koushi is anxiously trying to blend into the background and adds, “Sugawara-kun will accompany you.”

Koushi makes a sound that kind of resembles a dying bird when Oikawa’s furious gaze settles on him. “M-me?”

“Yes, Sugawara-kun,” Irihata-sensei smiles. “I am impressed by the concern you’ve showed towards your teammate, despite only being in the same team for a few months. I look forward to watching over your growth in the next few years.”

Oikawa’s face goes through a number of emotions at the revelation that it was Koushi who betrayed his secret. It settles on hostile acceptance. “I see.” He bows at Irihata-sensei, “Please excuse us,” and then turns on his heel towards the gym doors. “Let’s _go,_ Mr. Refreshing.”

He spends the entire walk to the infirmary in frosty silence. Whenever he catches Koushi glancing at him, he smiles. Or, more appropriately, _bares his teeth._

Koushi sighs and tries not to regret his decision too much.

At least, it seems like Oikawa is actually listening to Irihata-sensei and is headed the right way without trying to talk Koushi into going back to practice and lying for him. Koushi’s just not sure if this is because Oikawa is too mad at Koushi to ask him for favors or because he already knows Koushi won’t lie for him when he was the one who exposed him in the first place or if it’s because his knee is really bothering him and he’s secretly relieved to have it get checked out.

Whatever reason Oikawa may have had, they make it to the infirmary without any problems, and it’s even Oikawa himself who slides the door open with a polite, “Excuse me.”

Except the room on the other side of the door is completely empty. 

_“Well,”_ Oikawa says, in a tone that makes Koushi strongly suspect that he knew this was going to happen. “There you go. I’ve indulged you, _you’re welcome,_ but I can’t help that there’s _no one here_ and we’ve got _no choice_ but to return to practice, after all.” He starts turning around, eyes sly and smile sharp. “It’s really too bad that _no one knew_ that the nurse wouldn’t be here during _club hours_ but what can you do, _right?”_

He _definitely_ knew that this was going to happen. 

What a shitty guy.

Koushi moves to block his path and points to an examination chair as imperiously as he can. “Sit.”

Oikawa raises his brows, looking bemused. “Mr. Refreshing,” he begins condescendingly. “We’re doing nothing here but wasting time. If we lose our next match because of this plot you’ve concocted to prevent me from practicing with the team and kick me out of the starting lineup, I’m ratting you out immediately. Irihata-sensei will be very disappointed in you, don’t you think?”

Because it benefits Koushi _so much_ to a) kick a middle blocker out of the starting lineup when he’s listed in the team roster as a _libero_ so that b) his team will lose. That’ll really increase his chances of getting to play on games. 

“I have a black belt,” Koushi informs him pleasantly instead of pointing this out. “So I can throw you down, sit on you and get you to stay off your leg forcefully but if you get inside on your own accord, it’ll be far less humiliating.” _For you,_ he doesn’t say.

Oikawa stares at him.

Koushi stares stubbornly back.

Finally, Oikawa huffs and drops into the chair Koushi was pointing at gracelessly. “You know, girls don’t like it when you’re too forceful.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not interested in them,” Koushi mutters from his new mission of examining the supplies on hand. 

“Neither do guys.”

Koushi turns to give Oikawa a crooked smile. “Some of them do.”

And the weirdest thing happens – Oikawa’s face turns beet red. If they were in any other situation, Koushi would have crowed victoriously. Who would’ve thought. Woman sensation and all-around flirt with a horde of fangirls as big as a small army, Oikawa Tooru, is actually a total innocent. 

Not that Koushi had room to talk, but he’s not the one being lauded as a womanizer so the standards were a little different here. 

Oikawa shifts, crossing his arms across his chest, looking ready to retort before the change in position jostles his knee somewhat and pain skitters quickly across his face.

Right.

Priorities, Koushi. 

He clears his throat. “Take off your knee pad and elevate your leg.”

“What?”

“I said, elevate your leg,” Koushi says again, brandishing an icepack. 

“Are you a doctor now, Mr. Refreshing?” 

“I’m an athlete who knows basic first aid.” Koushi drops to the floor by Oikawa’s knee and removes the pad himself. He focuses his attention on the deceptively healthy-looking knee beneath it and gently presses the icepack against it. He’s still looking at it when he admits, “But maybe I’ll be one, someday.”

Oikawa takes this in quietly, somehow receptive to Koushi’s ministrations despite his earlier lack of cooperation. “A doctor?”

“Maybe a pediatrician.” Koushi grins teasingly. “Although, I should try for sports medicine instead, now that I know there’s plenty of clientele waiting for me there. Star athletes are surprisingly careless and stupid.”

“You, included?”

Koushi starts, jerking his head up to maybe catch the cruel twist of Oikawa’s mouth at the mockery.

Imagine that. Koushi, a star athlete. Very funny. 

But Oikawa’s face when he meets Koushi’s gaze is solemn and contemplative. His head is tilted to the side, like he’s trying to figure Koushi out, like Koushi isn’t an open book that doesn’t need to be scrutinized so closely in the first place. The intensity of it makes Koushi feel extra exposed, somehow, all his experiences and insecurities open for Oikawa to see. 

He drops his eyes almost as soon as he finds the strength to look away. “Oikawa-san, I love volleyball. And maybe some sort of miracle happened that allowed me to somehow make it into first string for a reason I’m still not sure about, but I’m not-“ His hands are shaking. He adjusts the ice pack carefully and barely manages to keep himself from tightening his hold. “I’m not delusional. I know exactly how far I can go.”

“It wasn’t a miracle.” 

“I-“

“You know, Seijoh is a really good team,” Oikawa says seriously. “Or I wouldn’t be here. And like any high-budget athletic school, the aim is to get its students to the National stage and bring home the title of champion. What, you think Mizoguchi-sensei accepted you into the team because he felt sorry for you? There’s nothing like that here. You make it to first string because you can become an asset to winning, or you don’t make it at all. So stop this _oh no, poor me, everyone’s better than me, I’m so scared to live my life_ thing you have going on. It’s a disservice to your skill.”

It’s that warmth again, spreading from his chest and filling his limbs with sunlight. Koushi had been without it for quite a while now, he almost doesn’t recognize it when it comes – the knowledge that he could be needed by a team, that he could help out, that he could stand on the court and be trusted by everyone to be good enough. Not just because there was an empty slot. Not just because there was no other option. But because-

Because he was worth it. 

He smiles up at Oikawa shyly, this foreign happiness a pleasant heat within his veins. “Thank you, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa goes red again, like he’s just realized what he said and how nice he was being. He turns his head away and sniffs haughtily. “It’s just facts. If you weren’t intelligent enough to realize it yourself, maybe you should be demoted to second string, after all.”

Koushi just smiles. 

It seems that even someone like Oikawa knows how to be kind after all.

He looks at Oikawa’s crossed arms and pinched face, deliberately not looking at Koushi and thinks, almost fondly, _don’t worry._

_I’ll keep your secret, Oikawa-san._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Day 3 and late already OTL I'm so sorry for myself. 
> 
> \- A libero is allowed to substitute a player who is not a libero, but only if said player is injured and there are no other legal substitutes available. Given the size of Seijoh's team and the situation Oikawa's describing, it really wouldn't have helped Suga in any way at all.
> 
> \- I didn't want to name characters that are needed in the story but aren't in the HQ canon (i.e. the Seijoh seniors) but then it'll just get confusing if I ever have to talk about players who have the same position. So. I stole some names. There really is a libero named Koga and a captain named Yanagida. Playing for the Japanese men's national volleyball team >.<
> 
> \- This chapter was supposed to be longer but I had to cut that last scene in half because it was taking up way too much space in here. Like, I promised myself 3k words max so I don't burn myself up and die before this week is finished but wowie, look at me, I just don't know when to let go, honestly, I need help OTL The other half will be on ch4, which is supposed to be in Oikawa's POV but WHATEVER, WHO EVEN CARES, I make the rules here. (Actually, I care. I care so, so much, and I'm slowly dying on the inside TT^TT)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: iv. faced with a towering wall


	4. iv. faced with a towering wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 4: Summer Festival | ~~Team Swap~~

“Anyway, are you satisfied now? I don’t want this to eat up the whole practice.” 

Oikawa gestures to his knee impatiently and Koushi sighs, good mood swiftly evaporating in the face of Oikawa’s insistence on pushing too far beyond his limits. “Oikawa-san. The whole point of this is that you’re overworking yourself and you need to rest.”

“I’ll need rest when I’m dead.”

“You know what the patellar tendon is?” Koushi traces its length gently down Oikawa’s cool knee. “We just learned about it, so maybe you remember that it gets the most stressed when you’re jumping. And you jump _a lot,_ Oikawa-san, even when you serve. What do you think will happen if you tear it?”

Oikawa’s leg trembles. “You’re overreacting. I’m taking care of it. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m sure that’s what the captain of the Titanic said about the iceberg, too, before the unsinkable ship went down the Atlantic and took half its passengers along with it.”

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest little history nerd,” Oikawa drawls. “I learn something new about you everyday, Mr. Refreshing.”

Koushi pushes the icepack onto his knee a little spitefully. It’s not the most gracious thing he’s ever done but he can only be the better man for so long while faced with Oikawa’s stubbornness. “You don’t have to run yourself to the ground to-“

_“Yes, I do.”_

Koushi falters at the bitterness of that statement. Oikawa grits it out like it physically pains him to say it, every word an invisible knife wound dug deeper than Koushi will ever know. It’s a surrender, but of the worst kind, the unwilling one, a failure one helplessly watches unfold. It sounds the way Koushi felt, not all that long ago, when he’d given his all and still hadn’t measured up.

“I _do._ You wanna know _why?”_ When Oikawa asks this, his smile is a brittle collection of already broken glass. “You wanna know... why I hate people like Ushiwaka-chan?”

“Oikawa-san, I-“

“It’s because they’re better than me.” Oikawa laughs. It’s an ugly, awful thing that doesn’t suit the desolate look on his face at all. “I can’t catch up to them. I kill myself practicing and I’ll still get left behind because they’re always constantly improving. Maybe they don’t work as hard as me, but it’s okay, they don’t _have_ to, they started out with _better specs!_ These once-in-a-lifetime geniuses who were _born_ to play volleyball. Who have the game _coded_ into their DNA and embedded into their very _souls._ These geniuses who stand on the court like they _own_ it, who can command the ball as easily as they command any other body part, because it _is_ just an extension of their own self, because it _is_ part of who they are, because it’s their _destiny._ And you know what really gets me, Mr. Refreshing?” 

Oikawa snatches the icepack from Koushi’s hand and nearly slams it back down on his own knee. “What _really_ gets me is that it’s _true._ They _do_ belong on the court. They _do_ own it. The rest of us, we’re the replaceable ones. All we’re really doing is fighting for a taste of it, for the chance to be able to keep the spot warm before yet another genius comes to claim his rightful place. 

“I hate it. I hate it _so much.”_

Koushi watches. Breathes. Thinks that there are a lot of things that make sense about Oikawa now, or at least, there are a lot more details that paint a clearer picture. Koushi is sure it’s not as simple, or as easy; that Oikawa’s true, unfiltered feelings are far more complicated than the way he’d lain it down to Koushi like that; that it’s layers and layers of years and years of fears and anxiety and doubt that couldn’t be unraveled in one afternoon in a deserted infirmary. 

But.

“Oikawa-san,” Koushi says slowly, curling his fingers around the white of bone showing through the thin skin of Oikawa’s shaking knuckles. “I’m sorry to say this, but Iwaizumi-san was right about you. You really are a dumbass.”

Oikawa’s eyes flash. “What did you-“

Koushi scrambles up to his knees so he can meet Oikawa levelly, eye to eye. “I said you’re a _dumbass. Bullshit,_ you’re just keeping the spot warm for someone else. _You?_ You spend nearly all your free time practicing! You had to buy new shoes just last week because you wore them out from using them too much. You can identify every single starter of every single school in our block with just one look because you’ve watched every single one of their matches before tournament season even _began._ You give your blood and your soul and your _life_ to volleyball. You lay _everything_ down on this court so... So what if geniuses are born brilliant? You had to _work_ for your light and that makes you the greatest star. The court belongs to you more than anyone. 

“ _You_ belong to the court more than anyone.”

Koushi’s panting when he finishes. 

Oikawa just stares at him, wide-eyed and frozen. 

And after five seconds of feeling accomplished for having made his point, Koushi immediately starts panicking. 

Their faces, he notices belatedly, are only inches away. He reels back, raising his hands, horrified at what he’d just done. “I mean... I... Not that... Not that I think... I mean, it’s really none of my business, so...”

Oh god, what did he just say? Who even says things like that? He just completely exposed his stalking ways to the very person he’d been stalking. Even though he really wasn’t doing it to be creepy, it was still technically stalking. In fact, being self-aware about it actually increases the creepy factor by at least ten percent. 

Did he even have the right to say all those things? He barely knows Oikawa. They had an antagonistic relationship at best, and sometimes Koushi even doubts that Oikawa remembers his real name. 

How bold of you, Koushi. 

It was really not the right time to bold. 

Fuck, he screwed up so bad. 

Should he apologize? 

But-

He’s not sorry for the stuff he said. And anyway, wouldn’t it cheapen all the things he’s trying to prove if he said he was sorry for saying them? But he had still been butting into Oikawa’s life without permission, so wouldn’t it be _more impolite_ to not say sorry? But then the point wouldn’t be made if he said sorry!

How much of an idiot can one person be, really, Koushi asks himself. He’s really put his foot in his mouth this time, this is _such_ a-

Oikawa blows out an amused huff of breath.

“Would you look at that,” he says, lips twitching up a little. “Even the way you think is refreshing.”

Wait, what. 

Oikawa is... smiling? That’s. Certainly not the reaction Koushi expected but wow, he’s taking it rather well. Koushi nearly melts to the ground in relief and decides not to look the gift horse at the mouth. “The more you say it like that, the less like a compliment it seems.”

“Good, it’s not a compliment.”

“You’re a shitty guy, you know that?”

“Iwa-chan tells me all the time,” Oikawa reminds him placidly. “But it’s okay. It’s one of the many burdens that rests on the shoulders of superior beings like me, to rise above the vitriol of my peons-“

“A _really_ shitty guy.”

“The more you say it like that, the more it sounds like a compliment,” the asshole sings teasingly.

“It’s really not.”

Oikawa’s eyes are laughing at him. “Like I said – refreshing! How many volleyball players do you think are dumb enough to insult me to my face?”

“I wouldn’t say dumb, exactly...” Koushi mutters.

“It fits you very well,” he continues unhindered. “And I like it, which is really all the opinion needed in any situation, so I’m keeping it.”

This guy is insufferable. Koushi kind of wants to strangle him. But like, not... deliberately. But also, if he ever ends up in a situation where he has a length of rope in his hands and then just happen to fall on Oikawa’s neck while holding said rope, he’s not going to lose sleep over it. 

Maybe. 

“And anyway, you kind of owe me, for tattling to Irihata-sensei like a kindergartner and then lecturing me like you’re my mom.” 

Oikawa’s smile can probably cut a stone in half when he says that. It rankles Koushi, because it feels like he’s waiting for him to say sorry for daring to care, which he’s not. In fact, that smile is making him want to stand his ground even more, to keep on butting heads with him until Oikawa gains the instinct for self-preservation he’s obviously lacking via osmosis. 

He squares his shoulder’s stubbornly. “I’m not-“

“It feels better, though.”

Koushi blinks. 

Oikawa shakes the icepack in his hands, as if for clarification. “It feels better,” he says again, quietly this time. 

In the light of the setting sun, clothing Oikawa in the most severe shades of crimson and gold, Koushi thinks he’s never looked softer. He smiles, hands relaxing in his lap. “I’m glad.”

“But don’t think this changes anything, alright, Mr. Refreshing?” Oikawa warns, raising a finger. “I’ll let this go _one time._ I’m still planning on crushing Ushiwaka one way or another, and the next time you stand in my way, I won’t think twice about taking you down.”

“Oikawa-san,” Koushi says, as nicely as he can. “I’d have thought you’d know by now. I’m not someone who’ll go down so easily.”

“You’re going down, either way.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Oikawa leans back on his chair languidly. “I’ll look forward to it then.” 

He’s smirking at the intentional reminder of Koushi’s words on their first ever match – the match that Koushi _lost,_ smug bastard that he is. But strangely enough, compared to how he’d been back then, it’s also, somehow, less combative. The heat behind his challenging words isn’t scorching anymore. He looks like he’s genuinely looking forward to the next time he and Koushi will clash wills again, not because he wants a revenge match but because he might actually think it’ll be enjoyable.

And Koushi... doesn’t know what to make of that.

It’s not friendship, not even close, but maybe- 

Grudging allies?

Teammates?

-maybe they’re on their way.

It’s a good enough thought, and so Koushi counts this afternoon as a win.

  


* * *

  


_The court belongs to you more than anyone._

Tooru thinks, it’s not absolution. 

It’s _not._

Sugawara doesn’t know anything. Sugawara comes from some obscure, insignificant team with a pitiful tournament record, of course he doesn’t know anything. Of course he doesn’t get it. His experiences with volleyball are dismally few in comparison to Tooru’s so he can afford to be innocent. He can’t understand the weight of expectation and the way it amplifies the creeping desperation that came with the bitter taste of failure, over and over again. 

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t _know._

After that afternoon in the infirmary, Tooru asks around to find out how Sugawara knows how long he practices for and realizes that he spends that time in the other gym with 10 and 12. The Weasley twins, 10 and 12, who are in the second string. The very same Sugawara who’s consistently ruthless in practice, never hesitating to take advantage of any of his opponent’s failings to save the ball, apparently also consistently manages to grow a heart right after, because it’s not like it helps _him_ any to train with the people who could very well _replace you_ just because they’re friends. 

Tooru asks him why. There’s literally no merit to what he’s doing. He can’t be learning anything from there that he’s not getting in the same practice as Seijoh’s actual starting lineup. 

Sugawara looks at him in the eyes with that rapidly becoming familiar stubborn tilt to his chin and says, “Oikawa-san, I don’t play volleyball for merit.”

...Well. 

That certainly explains things.

He’s one of _those._

The naive, idealist types, who still look at volleyball from beneath rose-tinted glasses, who think the point of it is to have fun with the team because _teamwork makes the dream work!,_ whose opponents are only opponents within the confines of three sets and then magically turn into lifetime friends due to their shared love of sport and competition. 

If only pretty sentiments keep the ball in the air. 

If only cutesy beliefs block spikes. 

If only _love is all you need!_ to win a game.

It doesn’t work that way, or else the volleyball that Tooru loves more than anything wouldn’t be breaking his heart.

But.

_You belong to the court more than anyone._

It’s not absolution.

But it still feels so damn good. 

Sugawara doesn’t know anything. 

But Tooru wants to listen to him anyway.

Tooru wants to listen over and over and over.

He wants to keep those words close to his heart and use it as glue, as an anchor, as wings that’ll lift what feels like the weight of the world from his shoulders. Finally light. Finally free. 

It’s stupid. 

It shouldn’t mean anything. 

He still wants it to be true. 

This desire doesn’t take down all of Tooru’s careful walls, all of his meticulous defenses, but it weakens something in it. And Tooru can’t tell what it is, only that it had been important because sometimes. 

Sometimes, when Iwa-chan throws a fit about Tooru working himself to an early grave, Tooru catches sight of fluffy silver hair and instead of laying the affection on thick enough that he embarrasses Iwa-chan into rage quitting, he actually says yes. 

The first time it happens, Iwa-chan gapes at him. Inelegantly. And also frighteningly unattractive, despite his other advantageous features he’s not even putting much effort into using in the first place. 

Tooru sighs to himself. His best friend is _hopeless._

“Wait, you- _What?_ Are you _sick?”_

And he promptly starts checking Tooru over, muttering something about how high the body’s temperature needs to be before a person starts getting delusional, which is kind of unfair because Tooru is seriously not that bad. 

“Iwa-chan, if you just wanted to feel me up-“

He doesn’t even get to finish that sentence before a fist finds its way to his head. 

“Why are you so _mean_ to me?” he cries, rubbing his forehead gingerly.

“Even if you had the right parts, you _still_ wouldn’t be my type, you asshole,” Iwa-chan says severely. Which makes Tooru want to retort with _but I’m your asshole,_ which is a hundred percent guaranteed to fluster Iwa-chan into spontaneous combustion but that’s not the goal at this particular moment. “Fuck, so what’s this, what is it, then? Aliens?”

Tooru automatically perks up at that. “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, you think I’ve been probed by aliens?” he questions happily. “How’d you know? Was I actually gone for weeks, and my memory’s just been filled in so I don’t question the gaping void in my life when I wasn’t on earth-“

“No, it’s just the real Shittykawa is a lot dumber than you, so.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru huffs, snatching his bag from his locker irritably. “I _know_ that rest is an integral part of training, too, you know! I’ve just been timing it, okay. We’re getting closer to the Interhigh, so I figure I should start now so I don’t burn myself out by then.”

Iwa-chan is quiet. Tooru shoulders his bag and makes his way out the locker room to this silence. It’s only when Iwa-chan still doesn’t follow him that Tooru calls him out and turns back around.

And Iwa-chan is.

Smiling. 

It’s an odd kind of smile, because usually, Tooru sees smiles like that painted on a parent’s face when their children present them with drawings they’ve worked so hard on but weren’t exactly exceptional masterpieces. It’s a kind of pride that’s born from the effort, not the consequence, the journey and not the destination. It’s the kind of pride Tooru’s never seen in the eyes of his best friend, who’s long been supportive and disapproving of the choices he’s made in equal parts. 

When he speaks, his voice is weak. “Iwa-chan...?”

Iwa-chan raises a fist. Tooru closes his eyes in anticipation of the hit, but this time, it’s just a gentle knock on his temple. Tooru blinks in surprise. 

“What took you so long to figure _that_ out, huh?” Iwa-chan says gruffly. “I’ve been waiting two years. _‘Just been timing it,’_ my ass. Stupidkawa.”

It’s only then that Tooru thinks about what it feels like, being Iwa-chan. Having to watch your best friend slowly destroy himself for glory by his own choice and never having the capability to stop it. Having your worries completely brushed off, being reduced to simply sitting in the sidelines screaming to an obstinate will that didn’t want to listen. 

Huh.

Tooru’s been a terrible friend.

And Iwa-chan a really good one, in turn.

He’s really lucky, he realizes. If not in the gene lottery, then at least in this. After all, most friends would have given up on Tooru already, long before Tooru could finally find it in himself to actually listen. But not Iwa-chan. Guess you can really make lifetime friends from shared love of sport and competition, after all. He smiles. “Well, now that we have all this time to _bond,_ Iwa-chan, wanna have a sleepover and talk about our crushes and braid each other’s hair?”

“Fuck no.”

“But _Iwa-chan-”_

“Shittykawa, it’s still Monday. You can’t be reaching your weekly quota of brattiness already.”

“You know you want to! I still have that picture from back in junior high-”

“I’ll kill you.”

Tooru laughs at Iwa-chan’s constipated face.

And then quietly promises to himself that from then on, he’ll always take a break on Mondays.

  


* * *

  


Summer break means the looming threat of Interhigh is drawing ever closer and Tooru’s schedule rapidly fills up with training camps and solo practices in between bingeing videos upon videos of previous matches from all the schools in their block.

But first. 

“Tanabata?” Tooru asks, raising a brow as he looks up from the flyer. 

“It’s tradition!” Fukatsu-senpai crows, proceeding to go on an impassioned spiel about _youth!_ and _brotherhood!!_ and the _intertwined fortunes of sportsmen!!!_

On court, Fukatsu-senpai is a solid, objective setter who doesn’t let his emotions cloud his judgement. He’s very effective and reliable. Tooru trusts his plays like no other setter he’s ever played with before. Outside of it, it’s like the emotions he holds off while playing volleyball overflows and he turns into this excitable puppy who needs to speak with an exclamation point every other sentence. He has so much _personality!!!,_ is overly frivolous, and peppy, and Tooru hates everything about him. 

When informed about this particular personality assessment, Iwa-chan, Tooru’s traitorous best friend, honest to god _laughs_ and then tells him to maybe develop some self-awareness. 

This opinion is, of course, _Not. Appreciated._

Sugawara, however, eats it right up. Predictably.

Their captain sighs the sigh of a martyr and plucks the flyer out of Tooru’s hand. “I don’t know when it started, but the team usually makes tanzaku before training camp starts and then we hang it together. Your wishes don’t have to have anything to do with the upcoming tournament, although they do for us.” He gestures at himself and the rest of the first string seniors. “After that, you can just treat the festival like a fun day off before the Interhigh boot camp slowly and methodically pries all our souls out of our bodies.”

“That’s encouraging,” Sugawara says rather genuinely in reply to the statement that sounds in no way, shape or form, _encouraging._

“I’m so happy we got such adorable kouhai,” Fukatsu-senpai swoons, ruffling Sugawara’s hair like he’s the beloved baby of the family. Or a pet. He’s about a head taller than Sugawara so the effect is magnified exponentially. When the captain slaps his hand away and gives him a Look, he starts pouting. “ _Yanagida-buchou,_ aren’t _you_ happy we have such adorable kouhai?”

Adorable kouhai Tooru wants to _throttle_ him.

“If you keep treating them like that, they won’t be adorable for long.”

Sugawara smiles widely at that, the manipulative little faker. 

While it is tradition to write wishes on tanzaku for tanabata, Tooru’s never actually done it with a team before. Kita-Ichi had just let it pass without comment. It’s honestly a little surprising to discover that a school with as fearsome a reputation as _Seijoh_ had longstanding mushy customs like this one. 

Fukatsu-senpai breaks out an alarming amount of art supplies and gives the adorable kouhai what feels like an hour-long lecture about _Safety First, The Sharp Objects Special!_ which makes Tooru glance longingly at the volleyballs resting in their carts and wonder whether it’s polite to return the favor with a practical demonstration of the potential dangers of _blunt_ objects. 

Sugawara takes to holding scissors like he’s about to stab someone with them just to mess with Fukatsu-senpai and Tooru wholeheartedly approves.

Nishida-senpai, who plays opposite, turns out to have a secret talent for crafts and starts demonstrating how to make paper shells to an enthralled Iwa-chan, who looks like his world has just been completely transformed. 

The captain and vice-captain start a production line of first stringers linking paper chains together with what seems to be ruthless, machine-like efficiency.

Tooru gets into a heated competition with his Mortal Enemy No. 3, Fukatsu-senpai, on who could make the longest streamer of overlapping diamonds which only ends when Koga-senpai very dryly asks where, exactly, they were planning on _hanging_ them. 

Later, when all is said and done, they hang their tanzaku together and pray for good weather the next day so that Orihime and Hikoboshi can meet. Tooru glances at the colorful bamboo, easily finding his wish in a sea of wishes, all of them pertaining to volleyball, and thinks, yeah, maybe it is a little bit surprising.

Strange, even.

But it’s also... really nice.

Sugawara grins from beside him, watching their tanzaku fluttering in the warm summer air, and Tooru is struck speechless by the unfiltered _joy_ brightening his countenance. It’s the happiest he’s ever seen Sugawara being, and that’s saying something for a boy who’s never without his smile. It transforms his features, calls attention to the honey of his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, the rose of his lips, the kiss of a star on the high arc of his cheek – a true child of summer.

Sugawara has a face shaped to hold easy delights and simple pleasures.

Euphoria becomes him. 

“This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this with a team,” Sugawara confesses quietly, like it’s a secret.

It’s just tanabata traditions. There’s nothing grand about it, or shameful. Judging from the way their seniors were acting, this is gonna happen every year anyway, whether they like it or not. But there’s something in the way Sugawara says it that keeps Tooru from poking fun or being callous. It makes him take a step back from the moment, and think, he doesn’t even know what the most important part of that statement was. Whether it’s _the first time_ or _something like this_ or _with a team_ or the three of them all together. He doesn’t know why it sounds like a secret. It’s just another part of the remaining puzzle of Sugawara that he can’t yet figure out. 

He wants to. 

But-

But today is a good day, a happy day, and the two lovers who only ever meet once every year deserve this fair weather and no tears. 

So instead, Tooru grins back, takes a deep cleansing breath and says, just as quietly, “Me too.”

Sugawara’s smile widens even more. Tooru hadn’t even thought it was possible. He’s a little sun, this child of the sky, and for now, he’s beaming just for Tooru. “I hope your wish comes true, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru’s tanzaku flips to face him, bearing the wish he’s held in his heart since he was very young.

“I hope so, too.”

  


* * *

  


(Five seconds later:

“I mean!” Tooru stammers. “I hope your wish comes true, too! Not mine! I mean, obviously, mine too, but also yours! That’s what I meant! Not-! Not-! Stop _laughing,_ Mr. Refreshing!”

But Sugawara just laughs and laughs and laughs.)

  


* * *

  


Sendai during the Tanabata Matsuri is a quick study of _I didn’t know this many people even knew Sendai existed,_ which really shouldn’t surprise Tooru as much as it should. It’s the most famous tanabata celebration in Japan. It’s also one of the biggest. In other words, it’s a total tourist trap. Yanagida-buchou tries to do a headcount before being cut off by Fukatsu-senpai, who spreads his arms out wide and promptly declares, “Scatter, my ducklings!”

Which totally isn’t the point of the team visiting the festival _together,_ and it takes Tooru – who’s never made any claims about his intellect regarding navigation or, really, Japanese geography – approximately five seconds to get separated in the resulting shuffle. The brightly colored jungle of long streamers that downtown Sendai has turned into, and is well-known for at this time of year, just makes it even harder to spot his team from within the press of people, distinct jersey or not. 

Tooru’s just about to give up and call Iwa-chan to come fetch him when he bumps into a person walking the other way and his phone tumbles out of his hand. 

Another hand catches it by its cute little alien charm and deposits it right back into Tooru’s palm before Tooru can even open his mouth.

“Hello, Oikawa.”

The _excuse me_ and _thank you_ social niceties dry up in Tooru’s mouth. He straightens up slowly, blood already starting to simmer beneath his skin, and looks up to come face-to-face with-

_“Ushiwaka-chan.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I know Oikawa's views are a little different from canon Oikawa's views but canon Oikawa was a setter. He was the one who told Kageyama that no matter how much a setter is considered the control tower of the team, ultimately, it's the spiker that's in charge of his own attack. He wins by making everyone on the team the best they can be. A middle blocker's pride, in comparison, is literally in the name. And in the ace vs. blocker situation that I've now put Ushijima and Oikawa in, I feel like Oikawa's perception on what victory is would have skewed a little bit. It becomes more personal. Winning against Ushijima doesn't entail winning a match with his team anymore but actually winning directly against Ushijima by shutting down his spikes by himself. It's a one-on-one competition instead of the team sport it's supposed to be. Dw, though, that's just who he is for now. He still has quite a bit of growing to do. Of course, I don't claim to be a behavioral analyst so I could be wrong but I hope that still makes some sort of sense.
> 
> \- Oikawa really does takes time off on Mondays for resting. I just gave it a fake history.
> 
> \- According to [this amazing post](https://honyakukanomangen.tumblr.com/post/112431023733/japan-mens-high-school-volleyball-calendar), Interhigh preliminaries are supposed to be early June, and by the time summer break and the Sendai Tanabata Matsuri comes around (August 6-8), the Interhigh would have already been ongoing. But I had to stick with the prompts since this is for OiSuga Week, and rather than going oh yeah, haha, btw, the prelims are over and the Kawa vs. Ushi grudge match already happened in the time lapse lolol I'm a troll, now it's summer break and so here's a festival -dumps chapter-, I decided it was better to just mess with the timeline instead. I'm sorry >.<
> 
> \- Like Koga and Yanagida, there really is a setter named Fukatsu and an opposite named Nishida playing for Japan's national volleyball team. I just stole the names, however, and not the person because I'm really bad at names, okay, like I once named Oikawa's sister Tomoyo #sos
> 
> \- Who are Oikawa's Mortal Enemy Nos. 1 and 2, you ask? GUESS. (Although I'm pretty sure you already know >.<)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: v. matching stride with your shadow


	5. v. matching stride with your shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 5: Fast Food | ~~Teacher AU~~

Of all the people in the world he could bump into. 

There’s probably more than a million festival-goers who flock to Sendai during tanabata to marvel at the streamers and take part in the celebrations. There are so many places to go! Other shopping centers, the park, the station, the river. For god’s sake, Tooru got lost within five seconds of being here without even _trying._ The odds of having this kind of ill-fated meeting are little to none, it’s not even funny.

This is the kind of giant cosmic intervention that is very much _not welcome._

Ushiwaka eyes Tooru’s jersey judgementally, before saying, in the snootiest _bocchan_ voice Tooru’s ever heard him use, “So you’ve chosen to go to Seijoh, after all.”

What, did he assume that Tooru went to school with him and just simply refused to go play volleyball? Or worse, ended up in Shiratorizawa’s _lower strings?_ God, everything about this bastard pisses him the fuck off. 

“Yes, I have!” Tooru laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “I would have told you-“ _No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t care less about your opinions if I_ tried. “-but Seijoh’s kept me really busy with my studies and practice, I just couldn’t find the time. You understand.”

“Yes, I’ve heard word of your practice matches.”

So he knew where Tooru went after all, and the high and mighty _So you’ve chosen to go to Seijoh_ opening was completely unnecessary! Did this guy always choose his words with the deliberate purpose of riling Tooru up? Because goddamnit was it working. “Oh? And? What do you think?”

They may not be university teams but a 2-0 win against Johzenji (25-23, 25-20) and a 2-1 against Dateko (25-22, 24-26, 25-19) is nothing to sniff at. After their match, Dateko’s coach had approached Tooru and told him it was a shame he didn’t choose to play for their team after all. He would have made the Iron Wall impenetrable. 

And Tooru’s not saying that statement spoke to his ego, exactly, but, you know.

He also might be saying it.

Just a little bit.

He’s only human. 

Ushiwaka pauses gravely as he considers the indifferent stance this thought affords Tooru and then makes the worst call in the world by deciding to open his big, dumb mouth. “You should have come to Shiratorizawa.”

In a flash, Tooru’s prided self-control evaporates. He thinks, _I’m going to deck him._

And then, just as abruptly, he gets it back. It happens so quickly, he almost suffers an internal whiplash. 

Iwa-chan would get mad.

So would Sugawara, probably. 

And the captain.

And Mizoguchi-sensei.

And he’d probably get kicked out of the tournament because punching other players is very heavily in the Not Okay part of the rules and then he’ll never have the revenge against Ushiwaka that he wants. And then, Ushiwaka will _win._

No fucking way. 

Tooru takes a deep, fortifying breath and smiles even wider. “No, I’m quite happy where I am, thanks.”

“A frog, too, will happily remain in tepid water while it boils slowly to death because it had been fooled into complacency, unwittingly contented with its own demise.”

Silence falls between them, as the world moves on beyond them.

The sun shines.

The wind blows.

People pass them by on the street. 

There’s an aura of peace beneath the chaos that festivity has brought upon this fair city-

“Did you just call me a frog.”

Ushiwaka blinks, momentarily baffled at the amount of vitriol Tooru has managed to inject in his otherwise flat delivery. He clarifies, “It is not my wish for your skills to languish.”

“I am not a frog.” Because Tooru feels that this, too, needs urgent clarification.

“An unfortunate metaphor.” Ushiwaka closes his eyes. Tooru feels that if this guy were any less uptight, he’d be stomping his foot, going, _so not the point_. Or maybe that’s just Tooru. Either way, sucks for him, Tooru is completely dedicated in forever missing the point, because Ushiwaka is forever dedicated in just not getting it. When he opens his eyes again, he’s sighing. “I see this part of you remains unchanged.”

“The part of me that’s significantly more attractive than a _frog._ ”

“I have little qualms about you as a player, Oikawa,” Ushiwaka starts, bullheadedly charging into a different conversation, in that sermon-y voice that makes it sound like he thinks he’s better than everybody. He probably does. The desire to punch him reignites with a passion and Tooru just barely holds on to his sanity. This cocky son of a bitch better be busy thanking his lucky stars there are witnesses around. If Tooru didn’t think he was going to get caught, he’d probably already have _murdered_ him. “But the decisions you make outside the court leave much to be desired. There is potential in you that will never now be realized because you choose to play for a team that will not be able to support your growth nor know how to properly make use of your skills on the court. You and I both see the great disparity between your abilities and theirs, but you refuse to acknowledge this out of some sort of insignificant sense of pride. It would be better for you to let go of this now while you are able. Shiratorizawa will still accept you with open arms.”

Tooru bites down on his tongue for a moment to keep himself from screaming _And the disparity between you and me? What about_ that? 

This is what Ushijima Wakatoshi will never understand. The fact that Tooru has something to prove, to himself, maybe even to Ushijima. Because geniuses like him only ever understand victory. He sees his way of thinking as truth because it’s that very same way of thinking that’s led him to _win._ And there’s no one to prove him wrong, at least in Miyagi. Even outside of it, there are only a select few who can. Maybe they even hold the same truths, all of them so drunk in their power, taking the triumphs some people only dream of like it’s something they are owed. Like it’s just the way of the world. 

He and Ushijima Wakatoshi are not the same. 

And, the strangest thing is that before, that would have made Tooru feel so bitter, drowning in the dark sludge that hate has turned his blood into, from knowing firsthand just how much the world is not fair. It would have made him want to lash out, because other people need to understand how very ugly it can get. Tooru shouldn’t have to be the only one who’s miserable.

But now-

_You had to work for your light._

It’s not absolution.

But.

_That makes you the greatest star._

That’s his pride, too, isn’t it?

“I’ll see you in the Interhigh, Ushiwaka-chan.”

Ushiwaka stares at him. Tooru can tell that he expected something vastly different from the response that he got, judging from how their interactions usually went. After all, Tooru has a history of giving precisely zero fucks when it comes to people finding out just how much he hates him. He’s not exactly the cookie-cutter definition of mature. He doesn’t regret it, either. Ushiwaka can suck it. It’s just this time, he’ll be using the language Ushiwaka understands. Maybe it’ll have a bigger chance of getting through this dense idiot’s thick skull then.

“Very well. Perhaps defeat will help you see the error of your ways.”

Tooru’s eye twitches. “There _is_ no error. This is simple logic, really. I’ll fight for Seijoh and I’ll win against you. That’s all. And when that happens-” He smiles sharply, bringing a hand to his chest and clutching the material over his heart.

“You better remember my insignificant pride.”

  


* * *

  


After over an hour of waiting, Oikawa finally stumbles into the gym, looking vaguely harassed and also pissed off. He scans the area in a darting, panicky way before he ducks behind one of the volleyball carts sitting in the shadowed area near the storage closet.

Koushi catches the volleyball he’d been idly tossing and hugs it to his chest a little defensively. “Oikawa-san, where-“

“I’m not here!” he hisses urgently.

Koushi doesn’t even get to open his mouth again before a _tide_ of yukata-clad girls spill into the gym in a cloud of flowery perfume and manic frenzy. 

“That’s not Oikawa-san,” one of them says and Koushi is suddenly the recipient of many, many laser-eyed glares. A shiver crawls down his spine. This is the stuff of his nightmares. For a moment, Koushi honestly believes he’s about to get clawed to death for doing absolutely nothing but being himself.

“Yes, I see that.” The girl at the front of the pack snaps her fingers and gestures to the rest of her companions. “Can anybody tell me who this is? Is he supposed to be here?”

Koushi just keeps on hugging the volleyball. He wonders whether it would be a good idea to speak now or forever hold his peace, but then figures that he hadn’t been addressed and he might actually be beheaded for speaking out of turn so he shuts his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” _They call her ma’am?_

Someone in a peach kimono adorned with a beautiful cascade of sakura flowers down the sleeves steps forward, holding a tablet in her hand. She adjusts her glasses and then begins to talk: “Sugawara Koushi, First Year, Class 4, seat number 21. Known affiliation: Seijoh Boys’ Volleyball Club, First String. Position: Libero, jersey number 16. According to the OTFC-Seijoh Chapter Assessment Scale, his relationship with Oikawa-san rates a three out of five – grudging acceptance and budding friendship. Incidents of note: an excursion to the infirmary in the middle of practice approximately one month ago. It is reported that he prevented Oikawa-san from further aggravating a right knee strain sustained from practice the day before. OTFC-Seijoh Chapter Vice-President moved to present him with a pastry basket as a token of our gratitude but the motion was not put forward due to the undertone it might present that we appreciate him more than we do Oikawa-san, due to the restrictions imposed on our affections towards him by the OTFC Charter, Section Four-Dash-Seven.”

 _Is this a fever dream?_

Koushi pinches himself. Nope. He’s still in the gym and these girls still know more about him and his 3-star relationship with Oikawa than Koushi knew himself. How did they even know about the infirmary? And his seat number? A pastry basket? What the hell is in the OTFC Charter Section Four-Dash-Seven? Koushi has so many questions. But he feels so out of it, all he can manage is a faint, “OTFC?”

“Oikawa Tooru Fan Club,” the one known as _ma’am_ explains.

Right. “Right.” As if that explained the acid trip that Koushi’s life had been for the past five minutes or so. 

“We’re sorry for interrupting your self-training, Sugawara-san,” she continues, smiling. “We’d just like to know if you’ve seen Oikawa-san, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Koushi blinks. He points to the left, the actual direction of the volleyball cart and he could swear he feels Oikawa’s searing glare from all the way over here. “He went that way, I think.”

She bows the perfect, respectable bow of a perfect, respectable lady. “Thank you, Sugawara-san. We are much obliged.”

Thus saying, she leads her squadron out of the gym and to the left in a newly determined death march to find their idol. 

That Koushi is currently harboring. 

This is the day that Koushi dies. 

Oikawa jumps out from behind his hiding place and points at Koushi accusatorily. “You didn’t have to point right at me, you know! You could have said right! I thought I was going to have a heart attack!”

“You’re welcome?” Koushi returns, because if he stares death right in the face for you, then the least you can do is be grateful. “Also, did you see what I just saw? Your fan club is more like a private army and spy network than a fan club, I was genuinely scared for my life. I mean, what if they had a built-in lie detector somewhere and they’d be able to tell if I was lying or not so they can burn me in the pyre for trickery and witchcraft? I’m too young to die! This way, I didn’t exactly lie, I just let them interpret it wrong.”

“That’s-“ Oikawa’s hand wavers. “That’s... actually really sly of you, Mr. Refreshing. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Really?”

“No, I knew you had it in you. Things like that just happen if it’s you.”

Koushi hides his smile behind his phone at that show of confidence on his character. Oikawa was learning, after all.

He peers at Koushi suspiciously as he collapses beside him in relief at his narrow escape from the hounds. “Who are you texting?”

“The team,” Koushi informs him, obligingly. “You got separated and no one can contact you so everybody panicked. They’d be happy to know you’re not kidnapped or dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Aw, that’s so cute! It’s nice to know you all love me so much that the thought of my mere absence- Wait.” Oikawa cuts off what would have been a truly epic gush session abruptly to once again peer suspiciously at Koushi’s face. “What are _you_ doing here then?”

Koushi smiles at him sweetly. “I didn’t want to run around in a wild goosechase after you in this heat so I volunteered to wait here in case you decided to come back. They all agreed it was a good idea, and then Fukatsu-senpai found out you liked milk bread and made me buy some and told me to scatter the breadcrumbs so you have ‘a trail to follow that will lead you back home.’”

 _Like Jack and the Beanstalk!_ Fukatsu-senpai had concluded.

Koushi had stared at the captain the entire time that spiel had been going on, and he’d given Koushi a moderately victimized look and told him it was better to just go with it. So he went with it, if only to reduce Yanagida-buchou’s stress levels.

He’s not quite sure Jack and the Beanstalk was the right fairy tale, however.

Oikawa perks up at the mention of his favorite food. “You bought me milk bread, Mr. Refreshing? Where?”

Koushi shamelessly reveals his empty hands with a shrug. “I thought you were kidnapped or dead in a ditch.”

“How mean! To think this is what our budding friendship has come to! That you would wantonly consume the offering meant for me in the event of my death! That’s bad luck, you know. Think about how much bad karma you’re inviting into your life by taking food meant for the dead.”

“But you’re not dead.” 

“But I could have been,” Oikawa retorts darkly.

Koushi never would have thought he’d see someone look so smug at the mention of their own death, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. “Where did you even go? Fukatsu-senpai was on one of his speeches and when Yanagida-buchou tried to redo the headcount after, you were gone.”

“You mean, besides desperately trying to hide from my really effective private army-slash-spy network?” Oikawa’s face wrinkles in distaste. His breath comes out in a sharp exhale as he kicks his long legs out in front of him. He rolls his eyes, resting his weight on his hands as he leans back to stare at the darkened ceiling. 

“I got accosted by Ushiwaka-chan.”

Koushi stares. 

Like Oikawa and Iwaizumi before they became part of the same team, Ushijima is one of the people very firmly ensconced in the _celebrity_ category of Koushi’s brain. Someone he only knows by reputation and word of mouth. Someone that he can understand, intellectually, is a real person living in the real world, but also one he has a hard time actively recognizing as even existing in the same plane as... well, people like Koushi. It always just seems like they occupy a completely different world, away from the mundane problems and overall drudge of a mortal’s daily life. 

It’s a little disorienting, having Oikawa just mention it so casually, like randomly bumping into Japan’s Top 3 under-seventeen ace is something that you can just... _do._

“I hate him. Did I mention that I hate him? He’s always been a total prick, you know, but he’s only growing more intolerable as he gets older, let me tell you.” Oikawa clicks his tongue. “He told me I should have gone to Shiratorizawa. Can you believe the _nerve._ As if he didn’t get that I had a score to settle with him and it wasn’t going to get settled _in the same school._ How hard is that to understand, really? That, and being in his presence for more than ten minutes makes me break out in _hives_ because I’m allergic to _asshats."_

 _So sometimes you’re allergic to yourself?_ It sits teasingly on the tip of Koushi’s tongue, but he bites it back, because it’s not the time and place.

“But I’ll show him, Mr. Refreshing. The Interhigh Prelims is gonna be a showdown between him and me. An honest to god duel, two men enter, one man leaves kind of deal. You get it, right?”

There he goes again.

And no, Koushi still doesn’t get it. 

Maybe it really is rivalry, maybe he just doesn’t get what that’s like. 

But regardless of that, volleyball is never going to be a ‘two men enter, one man leaves kind of deal,’ because there’s _six people on court._ You can’t ever score a point by yourself, not unless Oikawa wants to get on it with Ushijima in a serve battle. And even then, there’s five other people who can try to fight Oikawa back. He doesn’t get it, this tunnel-vision that’s making Oikawa want to fight the sport of connections all alone.

_There’s me and four other people standing on the court facing Ushijima and his team, same as him, but he kinda forgets that whenever he’s busy being an idiot._

A burden for six on the shoulders of one. 

No wonder he sometimes feels like he’s carrying the world. 

Koushi curls his fingers around the volleyball in his hands and throws it the hardest he can manage. 

Oikawa grunts at the contact, tossing the ball away and then looking up at Koushi like he can’t quite believe his eyes. “What the _fuck,_ Mr. Refreshing-“

“Are you a total idiot?” Koushi demands hotly. “Thinking you can stand in a cage match against all of Shiratorizawa and win _by yourself?_ How arrogant can you be?”

Oikawa’s face pinches into the hard lines of rage as he draws himself up to snap back, but now that Koushi’s started, it feels like he can’t hold anything back. “Of course you can’t win against Ushiwaka! No wonder! Don’t you get it? He’s not fighting alone, you idiot! Do you think he can hit a perfect spike if his setter doesn’t toss him the ball? Or if the receiver didn’t get it in the air in the first place? Volleyball is a team sport! Six people enter and win or lose, you do it together! You’re never on your own! That’s the point of having a team, is that you always have someone to rely on!”

“Oh, spare me your platitudes, Mr. Refreshing,” Oikawa spits out scathingly. “Tell me one thing – when I jump for the ball, will my five other precious teammates put their hands on top of mine to help me block Ushiwaka’s kills? _It’s just me._ In a mid-air battle, I’m staring Ushiwaka down alone, and no fancy Pinterest quote about _teamwork_ can change that.”

“You, Ushiwaka and the ball _his setter gave him,”_ Koushi corrects. “No matter how it may look like from the outside, he’s never without his own support-”

 _“Support?”_ Oikawa’s laugh is acid pouring from him mouth. “I’ve been the blocking playmaker for a very long time now, covering up the holes that everyone else can’t seem to see. Don’t talk to me about support, I _am_ support. People turn to _me_ when it gets tough, so I carry the burden of their hopes myself because I’m _good,_ because I _can,_ because there’s _no one else-“_

“Then depend on me.”

Oikawa falters. “W-what?”

“I said, depend on _me._ I’ll be your someone else. When the feeling of being alone weighs you down in mid-air, I’ll share the burden with you so you can fly. After all, just as a middle blocker’s place is in the sky, a libero’s feet are on the ground. That means, whenever I’m on the court, I can lift you up.” Koushi smiles, the adrenaline pumping through his body making him loose-lipped and reckless. He gestures at Oikawa with one hand, “You’ll be the watchtower at the front.” Then to himself with the other. “And I’ll be the gatekeeper hidden within your the shadow. We’ll be the defenders of this blue castle, and no enemy will pass while we stand. Together, for Seijoh. For our team.

“We can become indomitable.”

By the time he no longer feels like bursting from everything he wants to say, Koushi is winded, like he’s just run miles without stopping even as he’s standing still. He holds Oikawa’s wide-eyed gaze resolutely, unable to give up or back down no matter how tired he suddenly feels until his point had come across. 

Then he remembers precisely _what_ he said to make said point come across. 

He knows he’s blushing before he feels it, the warmth creeping up his neck, spreading across his cheeks, pinking his ears. Koushi doesn’t put much stock in public speaking, he tends to be the speak with his heart kind of person, but.

And it’s not like he _regrets_ saying any of it because he needed to say it, but.

As if to rub salt to an already stinging wound, the first thing Oikawa does to break the silence that had descended between them both is dissolve in a fit of helpless laughter. “You’re _really_ something else, aren’t you?” he manages when he calms down, before bursting into giggles again. “Oh man, I can’t even decide if this conversation has been surprisingly deep or just plain embarrassing. Are we in a shonen manga? Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you wanna be the very best that no one ever was.”

“Shut up!” Koushi’s arm shoots out automatically, a defensive aerial strike against his mounting mortification, as if his face doesn’t feel like it’s been submerged in molten lava and melting in the scorching desert heat. “Stop laughing, okay, don’t focus on the words! It’s the thought that counts!”

Oikawa clutches his stomach protectively and laughs even _louder._ “Oh, Mr. Refreshing. You’re like the gift that keeps on giving!”

“It’s like onions! It might look funny and awkward on the outside, but you have to peel away the skin to understand the _layers-“_

“I can’t breathe! _I can’t breathe!”_

“What _ever,_ nevermind! Suffocate on your own mirth, you asshole!”

This is how Iwaizumi finds them, with Koushi dying of embarrassment, seriously tallying the pros and cons of aggravated assault and Oikawa laughing so hysterically, he’s crying. 

He takes one long look at the situation, drops the bags he’s been carrying and rolls up his sleeves. 

“Shittykawa,” he says.

It’s a judgement call.

  


* * *

  


After a truly impressive lecture where Iwaizumi had really laid it onto Oikawa which, Koushi figures out early on, was mostly for making him worry and not even having the general common sense to check his phone (“What do you want, Iwa-chan, a live-tweet of my impending death by fangirl?”), he shepherds them both to the school kitchens, laying his mountain of groceries on the counter.

“Um,” Koushi says in what he hopes is a lost enough tone to convey his utter bewilderment at this bizarre turn of events. 

Thank god Iwaizumi is adept at reading subtleties. “Apparently, it’s also tradition for the first years to make something for the seniors so we can eat dinner together and watch the fireworks later on.” He starts unpacking the bags purposefully. “Now that we’re sure Crappykawa didn’t walk into a speeding car and die-“

“Like I said, the only time I’ll disappear willingly is when the aliens finally take me!”

“Can’t happen soon enough, if you ask me.”

“Iwa-chan, mean!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “We have to get started on this now. We’re lucky there was a sale on a lot of items, so most of these are a total steal. Initially, I thought we could probably manage a good Tandoori Chicken but then I figured-“

He keeps talking, but Koushi’s mind has stuttered into a screeching halt at the first foreign word and latched onto it like a limpet. He steals a glance at Oikawa. He’s still mad at him, but seeing the other boy look as discomfited as he feels is more than enough reason to declare a temporary truce at possibly his only ally at this point in time. 

“Did he just say Tandoori Chicken?” Koushi whispers, leaning closer surreptitiously so Iwaizumi, still involved in his kitchen monologue, doesn’t notice.

Oikawa nods jerkily.

Koushi chews on the next inevitable question for a bit, before bracing himself and biting the bullet. “What’s a Tandoori Chicken?” 

“ _Oho,_ Mr. Refreshing,” Oikawa crows. Softly, because he’s still scared of Iwaizumi, but it’s a crow all the same. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t know? That’s just sad. I guess I can’t expect everyone to be as cultured and sophisticated as me-“

“Oh, because you know, do you?”

“Of course I do!” Oikawa retorts. “It’s... chicken. Obviously.”

Like Koushi can’t already gather that from the name itself. “Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced.

Oikawa takes a look at his skeptical face and then puffs up like a peacock. “It is! Tandoori Chicken!” His eyes dart across the ingredients Iwaizumi is _still_ unearthing. “It’s chicken! That’s been... tandoorized.”

Koushi claps his hands over his mouth to keep from disturbing Iron Chef Iwaizumi and shakes with the sheer force of his silent laughter. 

Oikawa jabs an elbow to his side. “Stop it, it’s true!”

“You’re so full of shit,” Koushi grits out before he has to cover his mouth again because he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Sorry?” Iwaizumi looks up from the food.

Koushi immediately drops his hands while Oikawa straightens beside him. He bites his tongue, feeling the tremors coursing through his body at the effort it took to hold himself back and clears his throat. Coughs. “Nothing,” he manages in that thin, wavering voice that meant he’s about this close to losing control.

“Anyway, Sugawara, do you have any experience in the kitchen?”

All of a sudden, Koushi doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He kind of feels a little bit like he’s now being hunted, actually. “I mean. I help my mom out when I can but it’s mostly-“

“Good.” And to Koushi’s eternal horror, he raises a _whole headless chicken_ and then shoves it right under Koushi’s nose. “Do you want to handle the chicken or the roux?”

“Excuse me?”

“For the curry?” Iwaizumi clarifies.

The curry? What happened to the Tandoori Chicken?

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

“Do you want to break down the chicken or make the roux?” Iwaizumi asks again, patiently.

 _Is this a fever dream?_ Koushi finds himself thinking for the second time in one day. “Wait, wait, this is so sudden. You... want me to choose? Between breaking down-” He gestures at the general direction of the naked, headless, featherless _whole chicken,_ which wasn’t pretty general, now that he thinks about it, considering how it’s being shoved oh so conveniently into his face.

“The chicken, yes.”

“And the second option?” Koushi’s voice is strangely high, even to his own ears. 

“You wanna make the roux?”

“...Are you still speaking Japanese?”

“The chicken it is,” Iwaizumi decides, and promptly deposits the naked, headless, featherless, slightly slimy-feeling, raw, _whole chicken_ into Koushi’s hands. 

He feels faint.

“Iwa-chan, what about me?” Oikawa pipes up now, conveniently _after_ Koushi’s initial dilemma. How unreliable. 

Iwaizumi takes a pack of milk bread from within his grocery bag of wonders and tosses it to the other boy. “Knock yourself out.” Then he turns around, whips out an apron from... somewhere and begins doing... chef-y things.

Oikawa happily starts munching on his milk bread because _aw, Iwa-chan, you do love me!!_

Meanwhile Koushi. 

Is staring down at a chicken. 

That can’t stare back at him. 

Because it doesn’t have a head. 

But it’s otherwise whole. 

A whole chicken. 

Without a head. 

But it’s whole.

He drops it onto the cutting board Iwaizumi had laid out for him, feeling deeply troubled down to the deepest parts of his soul.

“Oh, what’s this?” Oikawa drapes his long, lean, untroubled body over the counter, resting his chin on his palm and tilting his head like so. “Has Mr. Refreshing never seen raw chicken before?”

Koushi shifts uneasily. He gingerly lifts a chicken leg with the tips of two fingers. Except, of course, the leg is connected to the thigh and the thigh is connected to the body, so the whole chicken gets lifted along with it. “I’ve never seen it _whole_ like this before,” he admits lowly. He drops the leg and starts poking at the skin instead. “And it’s... How do I say this... It’s kind of...” When he pokes the breast, the wings jerk. He draws his hand back like the chicken had teeth and it’s about to bite. “Unsettling.”

“But you said you’ve helped your mom out in the kitchen, didn’t you?” He gasps, too theatrical to be real. “Could it be...? Were you _lying_ to make yourself seem more competent than you actually are?”

“No, I meant it like I washed the dishes and set the table! I’m not actually allowed to touch anything in her spice cabinet except maybe the bottle of hot sauce and I’m not even sure that’s a real spice.”

“How tragic a day to find yet another growing teenage boy unable to fend for himself in the wide, wide world,” Oikawa intones dramatically. “Truly, there is nothing more pitiful-“

“I don’t think you’re in any position to say that if you’re just as helpless as me, Oikawa-san.”

“How dare you make such vulgar accusations! I’ll have you know-”

“That there was some other reason Iwaizumi-san basically kicked you out of the kitchen by bribing you with food? Hmm? Was there?” Koushi challenges.

Oikawa sputters for a brief moment at the realization of how easily he’d been played. And then he draws himself up higher, placing his hands on his hips and stomping his way to the other side of the counter beside Koushi. “Obviously, that’s just because he knew I wouldn’t deign to lower myself to such plebeian practices as _cooking food._ He’s just scared I’ll overshadow him with my skills, that’s what. I was gonna graciously let him have his moment, but now that I’m being questioned like this, not anymore. Give me the knife.”

This is a wildly bad idea, Koushi thinks and if he had any decent bone left in his body, he’d put a stop to this impending trainwreck immediately.

But then again, who is he to stand in the way of someone trying to prove himself to the world? This is a beautiful thing, really. It must not be stopped. 

He hands Oikawa the knife. 

Oikawa takes it in both hands, face scrunched up in concentration. He’s holding the handle like it’s a katana. “Prepare yourself, Mr. Refreshing.”

He raises his hands over his head and as the light glints off the metal, Koushi notices that the sharp edge of it is pointing in the wrong direction. 

...This is a _wildly_ bad idea.

Koushi takes out his phone and and hits _record._

With a battle cry that would make many martial artists weep, Oikawa brings down his instrument of death with the force of a thousand comets. The blunt edge of the knife hits off-center and the chicken does the same jerky reaction it had when Koushi had poked it, except with considerably more... enthusiasm now that it’s been subject to the power of the Oikawa smash. It jumps off the cutting board and then starts _rolling_ over the counter in wobbly, jelly-like motions that has Oikawa clinging to the knife dangerously and cowering behind Koushi. 

In fear of a dead chicken.

Iwaizumi notices, of course.

He cracks his knuckles as he makes his way toward the two of them in frightening slow-motion. “What. Are you two doing.”

Koushi gets his first taste of One Punch Iwaizumi. He’s as scary as his reputation makes him sound. Koushi has absolutely no regrets.

  


* * *

  


They get relegated to peeling vegetables.

Surely, that’s not something they can mess up, right?

Koushi stares at the potato in one hand and the knife in the other and contemplates the meaning of his life. How many fingers do you truly need to survive, really. 

Oikawa rinses his carrots under running water and then promptly starts scrubbing them. With soap. “If you get rid of all the dark spots, Iwa-chan won’t even notice the difference!”

This time, Koushi feels the punch coming without even breaking from his newly-discovered existential crisis.

  


* * *

  


In the end, Iwaizumi makes the curry all by himself while Koushi and Oikawa stay behind the line he’s drawn to mark the kitchen a restricted area. In the early moments of their exile, Oikawa had refused to share their only sustenance, because he said that Koushi had already eaten his own and therefore, that makes the milk bread he has right now solely his.

What a brat. 

This rapidly devolved into a short-lived fight that Iwaizumi – “I don’t care who started it, I’m _ending_ it.” – put a stop to by shoving the remaining bread into his mouth.

They’ve both been sulking in silence ever since.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi finally says, looking up from the pot. “This is nearly done, but I need to step out for a bit. Just to the bathroom down the hall. Five minutes, max. Can I trust you two to not screw anything up in the next five minutes?”

“Really, Iwa-chan, what a question,” Oikawa sniffs, crossing his hands over his chest and huffing. “I never screw anything up.”

Iwaizumi clenches his fists.

“It’s fine, Iwaizumi-san.” Koushi raises his hands placatingly. “It’s just five minutes, right? And we’re just watching the pot, it’ll be fine.”

Iwaizumi regards him with thinly-veiled distrust. “Alright. Just... don’t move from there, unless there’s an emergency.”

Koushi gives him a thumbs-up. “Got it.”

Except, the very moment Iwaizumi disappears, the pot starts to shake ominously. 

He shoots Oikawa a terrified look. Oikawa shoots him a terrified look back.

“That’s an emergency!” the other boy declares, before they’re both scrambling towards it in a desperate attempt to avert said emergency before Iwaizumi comes back and starts raising hell. 

Koushi lifts the lid unsurely. 

“I can’t look,” Oikawa says, covering his eyes. “What’s happening?”

“It’s-” Koushi warily peers at the bubbling contents of the pot. “It’s just... boiling.”

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“Probably?”

“Oh.” Thus saying, Oikawa takes his hands away and pushes into Koushi’s space to take a look for himself. He smells faintly of cocoa butter. It’s nice. Koushi leans just a little bit closer so he doesn’t lose his view. “Do you think we can taste it?”

Koushi bites his lip anxiously. “Um.”

“We’re not doing anything, technically,” Oikawa reasons, voice soft and coaxing. “Besides, don’t you think we should know what the food we’re about to serve our senpai tastes like?”

“...Fine,” Koushi relents. 

Oikawa cheers. He even lets Koushi get first taste and waits on his opinion magnanimously. “So?”

“It’s a little bland.”

“Take that, Iwa-chan!” 

“I mean, it’s not spicy enough,” Koushi explains. “This isn’t even something I could call mild.”

Oikawa frowns at that. He puts a hand underneath his chin and starts making humming noises like he’s making a point of showing Koushi that he’s thinking hard. Then he grins brightly. “Okay, so let’s fix it!”

Koushi does not like the look of that smile. “Fix it?” 

“Curry is supposed to be spicy, right? Here, hot sauce.” Oikawa brandishes the bottle triumphantly. It’s Koushi’s favorite brand, too. “We’ll just add some of this until it’s just right and everyone will love it, and then Iwa-chan will have to get on his knees and grovel for my forgiveness for ever questioning my mastery in the kitchen.”

Which isn’t exactly the best of motives.

But the curry really _is_ in dire need of some spice. If they add little bits at a time, they wouldn’t be able to overdo it, right? It’s not like they were going to carelessly dump in an entire bottle. They’ll be careful. It’ll be fine. 

Koushi grabs the ladle. “Okay, but I’m tasting.”

The next few minutes are a cycle of pouring hot sauce and checking the new mix until Koushi feels satisfied with the taste. 

By then, nearly the entire bottle had gone into the pot. 

“That bad, huh?” Oikawa says, assessing the remaining liquid, which didn’t really amount to much. “Iwa-chan’s so hopeless.”

“Ah,” Koushi pauses in his stirring. “The curry’s orange.”

Oikawa’s eyes cut sharply towards him. “Is it _not_ supposed to be orange?”

“It wasn’t orange before we started fixing it.”

And then there’s this silence.

“It’s fine!” Oikawa trills, making for the leftover ingredients beside the pot. “We’ll just have to find a way to make it not orange again! There should be something over here...”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to add _more_ things to the curry we just messed up-“

“We haven’t messed it up! We gave it depth of flavor! All we’re doing is... developing it!”

“Maybe we should wait for Iwaizumi-san-“

“No, look! Curry powder! It’s the same color as the curry, isn’t it? I _bet_ the curry’s color came from the curry powder!”

“Ah, wait-!”

“It’ll be fine!”

  


* * *

  


The curry turns out inedible.

As punishment for their mistakes, they both get sent to town with a mile-long list of very particular orders for that newly opened fast food place that’s currently boasting lines that are _also_ a mile long. Koushi sighs.

“Okay, so. I have a confession to make,” Oikawa says, smiling sheepishly and throwing him a victory sign. “I don’t actually know how to cook.”

“I would never have known, Oikawa-san,” Koushi responds dryly.

“I guess I can get a little competitive at times.”

“A little? At times?”

“I’m trying to apologize here! Stop making it hard for me!” Oikawa whines, pouting massively. He’s flushing a little, the tips of his ears pink under the setting sun. It’s cute. 

Koushi finds himself softening at the sight. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m hopeless in the kitchen, too. And I definitely egged you on so it wasn’t like I was an unwilling accomplice or anything. Definitely more partner in crime, I think.”

They lapse into silence for a while, advancing forward slowly but steadily. The smell of grease and fried food wafts from the inside of the kitchen, a large overhead menu proclaiming deals and double cheeseburgers and extra-large fries. It’s a buzzing activity of orders being taken and called out and brought home. In front of them, a toddler excitedly points at a picture of an ice cream cone. Behind them, the automatic doors open, letting in a fresh wave of customers and hot air, and there’s the simultaneous cry that goes, “Welcome!” and “Please come again!” 

Oikawa’s face when Koushi finally checks on him again is pensive, eyes unreadable, the corner of his mouth tilting slightly upwards. It doesn’t take him long to notice Koushi watching, and his smile widens then, although no less melancholy for it. “Partners, huh.”

Koushi tilts his head obligingly but says nothing in reply, lets Oikawa work through whatever’s on his mind at the moment. He can’t puzzle him out completely, but he’s spent enough time observing the other to draw his own conclusions. 

Depend on me, he’d told him. Even though Koushi doesn’t really have much to offer. He’s not even a starting player. He’s inexperienced, with only a handful of actual competitive games under his belt. His reaction time needs a bit of work. He’s a little slow. More than anyone else, Koushi is aware of his limitations as a player, of how much more inferior he is to everyone else in his own team, let alone Shiratorizawa. He’s not the first picture people will see when they think reliable. 

Yet.

Maybe it’s selfish of him to say it.

But Oikawa looked like he was in desperate need of someone to lean on and Koushi-

Koushi is always in desperate need to be needed.

“You know I’ve never... I haven’t...” Oikawa trails off. Takes a deep breath. Tries again, “I guess middle blockers and liberos make for natural partners, don’t they?”

Koushi’s heart skips a beat. “I... I guess. They’re-“

“The defenders of the blue castle,” Oikawa repeats, although this time, he’s not teasing any longer. There’s something in his eyes when he says it that ignites a fire within Koushi, burning through all his half-formed wishes and dreams and bringing to life a new need, a new goal, a new want, far stronger than anything he could have ever dared to dream of all on his own. “But you know, if I’m to trust my back to you, you’ve gotta keep up with me, Mr. Refreshing. There’s a difference between simply _hoping_ you don’t lose and playing with _absolutely no desire_ to lose.”

“Of course there is.” Koushi places a fist on top of his chest and smiles. “The difference is heart! You don’t have to worry about my heart, Oikawa-san. I’ll become a partner you can count on soon enough.”

“I won’t slow down and wait for you.”

“I’ll catch up so I can walk with you!”

Maybe Koushi is the weakest link on the team, right now. Maybe he knows that better than anyone.

But he’s not going to waste any more time feeling sorry for himself. After all-

Oikawa snorts. “Don’t take too long, or you’ll get left behind.” He closes his hand into a fist, offering it into the space between the both of them. Koushi gapes at it, barely comprehending the meaning of the action, his breath lodged in the back of his throat. He looks up at Oikawa in wonder and the other boy raises his brows bemusedly.

“You’re not getting another one until you’ve proven yourself useful to me,” he warns. 

Koushi blinks.

This is a challenge, he realizes. Something he’ll only get again when he’s proven that he deserves it. A goal to aspire to. A target. A purpose.

But also.

A show of faith.

That one day Koushi _will_ get good enough to get another. 

Oikawa wouldn’t have offered this one if he didn’t think so, right? 

This is just the first of many. 

The sheer possibility of it takes his breath away, fills his chest with a sudden rush, a zap of lightning without the pain, singular and unparalleled, and so very precious, this feeling he can’t name reviving his heart anew with newfound life. 

He grins widely against the moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. “Of course! Leave it to me, Oikawa-san.”

And then he meets the extended fist with one of his own.

-the future is waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I thought a bit about why Ushijima would still be so interested in Oikawa even when he's not a setter and I figure it's because for every point Ushijima goes after, Oikawa challenges it. He matches Ushijima for every beat, stands toe-to-toe with him and even though he's never once shut Ushijma out completely, he makes him work for his points in a way no other middle blocker ever has. There's a kind of exhiliration for the game that Oikawa can give Ushijima simply because he stares down Ushijima's kills and he _goes for it,_ because Ushijima towers over him and still, he is not afraid. But then it makes you wonder - won't it be better for him then if Oikawa was in a different team? In a way, yes, but the thing is Ushijima sees Seijoh as clearly inferior. He literally calls it infertile soil. He's afraid that being there will dull Oikawa's claws, so to speak, because while Ushijima is getting the best resources to improve himself, Oikawa is not. Oikawa might not lose his drive and his spirit but when their skill gap grows too wide (because he feels that Seijoh won't help Oikawa grow), it's over. After all, a rival that cannot make you fear loss is not a rival at all.
> 
> \- Do you guys get it because Seijoh literally means blue castle - aha, so OiSuga became the ~watchtower and gatekeeper of the blue castle?? Hahaha... ha... ha. (^^;) Honestly, I had a really hard time finding a cheesy partnership metaphor for the two of them because HinaTsukki already got sun and moon and TsukkiYama already got shield and spear (which is WHAT I WANTED, damnit TsukkiYama, I'm so jealous, and also, what is with Tsukki monopolizing all the cool metaphors? I mean, I love him, he deserves all the cool metaphors, but Furudate, explain) so that's why it turned out like that. I don't know, now that I've been sitting on it for a long-ass time, it's actually kind of grown on me. Or maybe it's just me, I'm hopeless like that. 
> 
> \- This chapter can be alternatively titled: Iwaizumi Hajime is an overly stressed stay-at-home father of two who is in dire need of a little me time. His curry isn't bland, btw. It's actually perfect. Suga's tastebuds just don't register anything less than Dragon's Breath of Eternal Flame and Boundless Destruction spicy.
> 
> \- So, haha, after going significantly over my (self-imposed) word limit, my prompt-adherance only went so far as one paragraph in the longest chapter I wrote for this here fic. -laments failings as a writer while Oops, I Did It Again plays in the background- I promise, the fast food scene was the original Goal, I just couldn't manage to shut myself up. I need help, OTL
> 
> \- It is my headcanon for this au that the 'don't take too long' fist bump Oikawa gave to Suga in that last scene is the earliest incarnation of Oikawa's "I believe in you," and no one can take it away from me. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: vi. dash devotedly down your own path


	6. vi. dash devotedly down your own path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OiSuga Week Day 6: Nicknames | ~~Getting Lost Together~~

If Seijoh practices are brutal, the Seijoh training camp is a soul-sucking exercise in demonology that bleeds you dry and won’t stop when you beg until you’re nothing more than a forsaken husk of your former self. 

Koushi wants to throw up everything he’s ever eaten in his life and pitch his stomach in with that too, for good measure. His body is on fire, his lungs feel like he’s inhaled gasoline and he’s only sixty percent sure he’s not actually hallucinating. 

“Let’s try to work up to ten full-speed reps, Sugawara!”

He swears, if he hears _ten full-speed reps, Sugawara_ one more time, he’s going to suffer a mental breakdown and start slashing at people. Mizoguchi-sensei will be proud to know that he’s the first in line.

The biggest problem about Koushi as a libero is the fact that he’s not always as fast as he needs to be. He’s observant, yes, and he’s pretty good at anticipating the course of the ball, as well as factoring in any habits he may notice to his predictions, but that’s all useless if he can’t get to the ball on time. Being able to read the opponent is well and good, but someone still has to get the ball up in the air and that’s his primary job. 

Translation: “Sugawara, we’re working you on speed and reaction time.”

Translation of the translation: 2-point starts, cone drills and ladders drills.

And those are just to improve acceleration and multi-directional speed. After that, he’s with Koga-senpai doing position-specific drills – digging and dropping and going after balls that Mizoguchi-sensei bounces off the walls in different angles to hone his instincts. And then after _that,_ he has serve receives with none other than every single server in the first string, including someday partner who _won’t wait for you,_ Oikawa Tooru, whose accuracy and ball control is already showing signs of significant improvement. 

By the end of it, Koushi’s legs are numb and his arms feel like they’re about to fall off.

And then, they have to run up some hills. 

It’s a million times more exhausting than it sounds.

Koushi collapses into the sweet embrace of ~~death~~ the grassy soil in front of the gym doors and decides that he’s never going to move ever again. 

In front of him, Iwaizumi drops by the steps that lead up to the gym, leaning against them and breathing heavily. He grabs his water bottle and doesn’t even pause to think before upending the entire thing over his head. Beside him, Oikawa follows Koushi’s example and flops into the ground, except in a much more aesthetically pleasing manner because as he goes down, the droplets of sweat trickling down his body catch the light of the sun and _sparkle._

And that’s just plain unfair, right, like Koushi’s laying here, looking and feeling like the sweaty evolved man-ape that he is, but Iwaizumi is there in that post-workout jock pose, looking like the dashing protagonist of a shoujo manga and Oikawa like the summer edition cover of a swimsuit magazine without even wearing a swimsuit. 

At least Iwaizumi has the decency to have a semi-achievable style. Oikawa’s just oozing glitter and charisma from his very pores. 

While drenched in sweat.

So basically, he’s not sweating sweat. He’s probably sweating something ridiculous like eau de toilette because he’s not a real human being.

Goddamn Oikawa Tooru, Koushi thinks spitefully.

“This is my home,” he moans aloud. Contemplates sparing the energy to maneuver his limbs so he can kick Oikawa off his prime real estate. Forgets about it because what energy? “Go find your own.”

“This _is_ my own,” Oikawa retorts petulantly. “All 180 cm of it. You know how the ancient people once decided their property lines by throwing rocks and marking how far it goes? I am the rock.”

Koushi snorts and regrets it immediately because wow, that hurts. “I think Iwaizumi-san fits the description better than you.”

“What, why?”

“Because he’s so... sturdy.”

“Hah, hear that, Shittykawa? I’m the reliable muscle here.”

“Ohmygod, Mr. Refreshing, are you hitting on Iwa-chan?”

“Are you jealous?”

“ _No._ ” Oikawa turns his head to glare at Koushi. “I just can’t find any other reason why you’d even look at muscles-for-brains when you have the perfect specimen lying right in front of your eyes.”

“Watch it, Trashykawa, I can snap you in half and I won’t even feel sorry.”

“Iwa-chan, first of all, this is not about you. And second, stop cheating on me with this homewrecker. I was your friend first!”

Iwaizumi broods over that for a moment. Finally, he settles with, “I can snap you in half, with love.”

Koushi chokes at the hilarity of it. “Iwaizumi-san is doing the work of _god._ ”

“I hate the both of you!” Oikawa cries out, doing this floppy little dance to try to move away from his claimed spot without actually moving anything. It’s very funny, except Koushi can’t laugh because that’ll just make everything hurt _more._ “I take back my deposit, this is a toxic environment and I don’t want to live here anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works in the real world.”

“Whatever,” Oikawa sniffs. He gives up on his new dance craze and instead performs a minor miracle by actually managing to sit up. “Come on, you lazy asses. The showers are not going to be open forever.”

Koushi groans and burrows his face into the fresh, green blades of tender love and peace.

“Mr. Refreshing, you don’t actually use actual soil for facials, you know,” Oikawa tells him. “Also, someone’s probably peed in that.”

“I’m living off the land,” Koushi informs him, unperturbed. “I’m taking myself back to the natural lifestyle of our ancestors-“

“You can’t talk about the ancestors! _I_ talked about the ancestors!”

“Before hunting and fire and greenhouse gas, there was _grass._ ” Koushi pats his new best friend.

“Mr. Refreshing.” Oikawa’s voice is highly amused. “You are a nerd.”

“In that case, can I trade up?” Iwaizumi asks, grunting as he pushes himself upright. “I’ve been wanting to get rid of this one for years.” He jerks his thumb in Oikawa’s direction.

“Iwa-chan, you get wrinkles when you lie. You know you love me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Oikawa gives an offended sounding wail at that, which Iwaizumi silences with a well-aimed fist. He smiles at them both, shaking his head. “But I guess there’s room in my quota for one more shitty nerd.”

Koushi blinks. One more...? 

Oh. _Oh._

_He means me._

Koushi looks up at them, the legends Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Not so scary, after all, now that their combined power no longer feels intimidating to Koushi. It bolsters him instead, knowing just how much strength he’s allowed to share with them both.

They each extend a hand for him – Oikawa grudgingly and Iwaizumi patiently – and even though every part of Koushi’s body protests at the action, he clasps their proffered hands tightly and lets them pull him up with a blossoming smile.

(This is the initial link, the beginnings of the Seijoh that will one day stand on top of Japanese high school volleyball. For now, they’re just sweaty boys commiserating over their hellish training and arguing about nerds. Nothing and everything will change. Perhaps that’s the beauty of growing as a team.)

“But _I’m_ the best nerd,” Oikawa sees fit to remind them all, pointing at the sky dramatically.

Koushi looks at Iwaizumi and laughs at his exasperated face. 

_Ow._

Some battles are just not worth fighting.

  


* * *

  


He’s a strange one, Sugawara. Confident and insecure in turns, a walking contradiction that still somehow manages to fit perfectly into the image of the most bemusing boy Tooru has ever met-

“Ta-da!” Sugawara sings, gesturing to the approaching Iwa-chan with jazz hands and a proud smile on his face.

Iwa-chan, who’s dressed in a purple jersey and wearing a disturbingly believable wig. Tooru wouldn’t have been able to call them on the fake if he didn’t already know Iwa-chan and also if olive didn’t do terrible things for Iwa-chan’s complexion. Of course, Iwa-chan probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word complexion, so he wouldn’t care about those things. 

But what Tooru really cares a lot about this: for some reason or another, the front of Iwa-chan’s shirt proclaims – it was _printed_ on it, too, like what the hell, how much effort did they put into this, exactly – _Ushizumi,_ plus a big number _1._

“What,” Tooru says.

Sugawara beams. “Isn’t he amazing?”

“What,” Tooru says again.

“Oikawa-san, you know how you said you wanted to focus this week on stopping powerful kills in preparation for Ushiwaka?” Sugawara asks, shaking his hands again, clearly pleased with himself. “We decided this would help you imagine the scenario a little better.”

“What,” Tooru says, for the third time.

“It’s called method acting,” Sugawara concludes happily. 

“No, it isn’t,” Tooru finally gets out over his incredulity, and now that he’s managing to talk in full sentences, immediately proceeds to ask to the most important question of them all: “Where did you even get the wig?”

Sugawara had been handing a volleyball over to Iwa-chan, who takes it with one hand, standing with his feet apart, looking awkward, but at the question, he turns back to Tooru cheerily. “The entire thing, even the jersey, is from a cosplay store! Apparently, one of the main rival players of this volleyball anime had the same color hair. Did you know there was a volleyball anime? It’s really popular right now, too, apparently.”

“What.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, I was surprised, too!”

Tooru severely doubts he and Sugawara were talking about the same thing. 

“Anyway, what do you think?”

What does Tooru think? Tooru’s mind is not even processing this situation, that’s how wild it is. First of all, there’s Iwa-chan standing at the mouth of the gym cosplaying as Ushiwaka while their senpai (mostly Fukatsu) _ooh_ and _ahh_ at the _resemblance,_ like _what._ Is Tooru the only one with eyes? What do they even mean when they go _you’d be a total hit at Comiket like that?_ And what the hell is _Ushizumi?_ That sounds like a _ship name,_ and just the thought of it is already causing so much damage to Tooru’s fragile psyche.

Secondly, Iwa-chan – Tooru’s best friend Iwa-chan, no nonsense, no bullshit and no prisoners Iwa-chan, the Iwa-chan who wouldn’t even dress up as Hulk, who is _basically him_ except greener, for Halloween – is standing at the mouth of the gym cosplaying as Ushiwaka, _who’s not even a fictional character._

What even is Tooru’s life right now. 

“This is not going help my concentration in any way whatsoever.” In fact, it’ll probably just completely ruin it.

“Well, of course, it’s not like we could _clone_ Ushiwaka,” Sugawara immediately defends. “Iwaizumi-san could do with a couple more centimeters on him to look more convincing but beggars can’t be choosers, Oikawa-san.”

“Oi.”

Tooru snorts at Iwa-chan’s offended outburst. “Just a couple?”

_“OI.”_

Tooru narrowly dodges the spike mercilessly aimed his way. He turns to the source. Fortunately for him, the force of Iwa-chan’s glare is greatly diminished by his silly little get-up and the fact that he’s now taken it upon himself to stand on his tiptoes, which puts him at, like, nose level with Tooru.

Iwa-chan points at Tooru seriously, scowling. Tooru raises his brows. Iwa-chan clears his throat and then, in a far deeper voice than his usual tone, he speaks.

“You should have come to Shiratorizawa.”

_“Iwa-chan, no.”_

-and also the most annoying.

Tooru thankfully gets over _Ushizumi_ – why gods – although it doesn’t happen until halfway through their practice game, and Tooru’s team is losing, at which point, Tooru puts his foot down because. 

No way is he going to lose to Ushiwaka, not even the cheap, knock-off anime version of him that Iwa-chan is apparently cosplaying. 

Like, who would even name their character Ushizumi? It’s like they’re _trying_ to make him unlikeable by putting together two of the grumpiest trolls to ever walk the earth. But Tooru digresses. 

He’s not going to let them score so easily anymore. 

When he jumps against Ushizumi, he has perfect timing. 

The ball feels good in his hands as it slams onto the other side of the court. Tooru smirks. _Shut down._ Take that, cheap Ushiwaka knock-off!

“Oikawa-san,” comes an icy, disapproving voice.

Sugawara has his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking at him through slitted eyes. He giving Tooru a totally undeserved unimpressed face, tapping his fingers against his arm rhythmically. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, Mr. Refreshing. I already know how good I am.”

“Yes, well, it seems to have slipped your greatness’ mind that the point of this _trap-_ ” Oh shit, right, there was a strategy Tooru had let himself be provoked into forgetting. “-is to get Ushiwaka used to comfortably hitting straights for the majority of the match. You’re not supposed to _block the straight,_ you’re supposed to _narrow his course_ so the _libero_ can try to pick it up.”

“But I didn’t _feel_ you getting into the path of the kill,” Tooru argues hotly. “I had to make a decision or risk letting them score _again._ ”

“That’s the point! You’re not supposed to _feel me!_ If they _feel me,_ do you think the spiker would still hit the ball _directly towards me?_ ”

“ _Or_... you really _weren’t_ in the position to receive and I was right to block it and get the point!”

“Ohmygod!” Sugawara throws his arms into the air. “You are impossible! I can’t believe-“

“Guys,” comes Nishida-senpai’s placid voice. “I’m ready to serve over here. Let’s leave the flirting for after the game and off the court, okay?”

“What?” Sugawara yelps.

“We’re not flirting!” Tooru near-screams, making a point to separate himself away from Sugawara, who he’d been almost literally butting heads against during the course of their argument.

“There’s only so many times we can listen to you talk about _feeling each other_ without getting ideas,” Nishida-senpai informs them dryly.

“Ah, to be young again!” Fukatsu-senpai exclaims from the other side of the net. 

“You’re only a year older than them, Fukatsu,” the captain reminds him.

But Fukatsu-senpai is undeterred. “Oh, the pleasures that can only be partaken in by those in the golden age of youth!”

“I thought they sounded more like an old, married couple, actually.”

“Koga-senpai,” Sugawara moans. “ _Please._ ”

“Let’s not get overly distracted now,” Yanagida-buchou raises his voice, wrestling control back over the team. “While this is just a practice game, I still won’t condone anyone slacking off, you got me? Focus on this first and leave everything else for later. Fukatsu, eyes on the ball. Nishida, we’ll restart your eight seconds. Oikawa, Sugawara... you can flirt-“

“ _We’re not flirting!_ ” Tooru cries, much more forcefully this time.

“-or be in denial-“

“Not that, either!” Sugawara puts in. 

“-whatever it is, wait ‘til after the game. The losing team is running suicides as a penalty, so think about that.”

The team settles back into the mindset of competition at the captain’s words, but Tooru is still grumbling irately under his breath at their team’s propensity for teasing the _adorable kouhais._

He glares at Fukatsu-senpai standing opposite him on the other side of the net. It’s all his fault. Tooru _really_ doesn’t like him one bit.

Fukatsu-senpai smiles in return. “It’s UST,” he declares sagely.

Tooru’s team loses the game. 

Panting with his hands on his knees and legs feeling like jelly, Tooru decides that tonight, he’s going to sneak in on Fukatsu-senpai while he’s sleeping and then set him on _fire._

Accidentally.

As if privy to his murderous intentions, Sugawara turns his head from where he’s sprawled on the gym floor and eyes him seriously. “I’ll help you.”

See, Tooru knew there was a reason why he still keeps this one around.

“What are your thoughts on first-degree arson?"

  


* * *

  


And the thing is.

Even after all of that.

Sugawara’s still the kind of guy that Tooru maybe, possibly, probably wants to.

Befriend.

Maybe. 

Not that he’ll admit it or anything. 

Actually, it’s more like acquired tolerance. 

Rolls off the tongue better.

“This isn’t going to work,” Tooru admits, after yet another match filled with what their senpais have now taken to calling their _lover’s quarrels._

Sugawara’s face locks up at his words, mouth tightening and shoulders rising, defensive, bracing himself like he’s expecting Tooru to hit him, which is the strangest thing because _he’s_ the one with the history of aggravated violence. “What do you mean?” he says, enunciating every word carefully. 

“It’s hard for me to trust you,” Tooru clarifies. Sugawara makes a sound at that, a quiet hitch in his breathing that somehow has Tooru hurrying to add, “Because I don’t know you.”

Sugawara blinks. His eyes are wide, wide bottomless pools of darkened honey. “Oh.”

“So we’ll be spending a little quality time with each other, you and me.” 

Tooru smiles, leading him to the side of the gym with his head held high as Iwa-chan’s drill group takes over the court. Iwa-chan’s watching Tooru with a stern but questioning expression and Tooru gives him a smile and a victory sign to signify that Sugawara’s coming back from their break in one piece so Iwa-chan has nothing to worry about. 

Iwa-chan’s face immediately turns suspicious. 

Tooru wants to pinch the bridge of his nose. Really, how hopeless can one person be at reading social cues. Jeez, Iwa-chan.

Sugawara, too, is eyeing him a bit warily as he settles cross-legged on the floor, fingering his water bottle. Tooru plops down next to him uncaringly and stretches. “ _Relax,_ sheesh. You don’t have to look like I’m going to stab you in the back all of a sudden, we’re just talking. It’ll be just like twenty questions! Or a trust fall.”

“Those are two completely different activities.”

“I mean, you put them together! Like truth or dare minus the dare.”

“So... _not_ like truth or dare.”

“Don’t make this harder for you than it has to be, Mr. Refreshing.” 

“Harder for me, or harder for you?”

Tooru drops his hands to the floor and glares. Sugawara’s face breaks out into a mischievous-looking grin at his obvious show of annoyance. What the hell even possessed Tooru to think this was a good idea? He might actually be able to tolerate Mr. Refreshing now, but that didn’t mean the other was any less of a little shit. Tooru’s just growing immune. But slowly. Very, very slowly. “Do you want to become effective teammates or not?”

Sugawara’s lips thin. “Fine. But I reserve the right to pass.”

“Deal,” Tooru grins, finally getting somewhere. He leans closer and lowers his voice conspiratorially. This is prime data, after all. “So... How exactly did you get Iwa-chan to wear the Ushizumi cosplay?”

“Pass,” Sugawara says breezily. 

“You can’t hide your blackmail material from me forever,” Tooru warns him darkly. He’s gonna get his hands on whatever it had been that got Iwa-chan to agree to that ridiculousness if it _killed_ him. “So you might as well save yourself the pain. It must be pretty bad, right? How’d you even get your hands on it? I’ve been best friends with Iwa-chan since we were kids and I can never get him to do what I want.”

“Pass and pass.”

“You can’t pass on _every_ question!” 

“I just did.”

“Well, then you’re cheating.”

“No, I’m not. You said I could pass so I passed.”

“I didn’t know you’d do it for everything!”

“I don’t make the rules.”

Tooru grumbles. “I’ll find you out someday.”

Sugawara shrugs coolly.

“Fine!” he huffs. It’s not like he’d been expecting Sugawara to make it easy for him, anyway. Whatever, he can find it out on his own and then it’ll be even more glorious. Moving on. “Do you really have a black belt?”

Sugawara smirks. “No.”

He knew it! “You lying little-“

“I needed to find a way to keep you from leaving and it was the first thing that came to my head. But don’t get your hopes up, Oikawa-san.” Sugawara eyes him assessingly from head to toe and then back. “I can still take you.”

“Oh, you wanna fucking _go?”_

“Isn’t this supposed to improve our teamwork?” Sugawara wonders aloud, dodging Tooru’s flying fists. Not that it would have been hard for him to do that because Tooru is holding back, due to the fact that they’re still technically in the middle of practice, so. “Why does it feel like it’s just making it worse?”

“This is just how I show affection, Mr. Refreshing,” Tooru insists doggedly. “You know, for the record, I think I was a famous MMA fighter in one of my past lives, I feel so strong inside.”

The other boy laughs. “Really? That’s what you want to be in another life?”

“Well, no,” Tooru admits, dropping his fists and leaning back against the cool gym wall, watching the exchange of balls back and forth over the net. Yanagida-buchou gets in a particularly good spike that Koga-senpai is barely able to touch and lands to cries of “Nice kill!” He turns to Iwa-chan immediately afterwards and starts talking to him about something, Iwa-chan listening intently and nodding every few seconds. The squeak of sneakers and the slam of balls fill the air. Irihata-sensei blows his whistle, directing set up for the next drill. Lined up against the walls beside them are various members of Tooru’s drill group, talking strategy, drinking water, or simply taking the time to relax that this short break is affording them. 

This is familiar to Tooru, as familiar as his own body, his own breath. It’s his world, had been his world since he was a child and will continue being his world even when he grows up. He can’t imagine having anything else. He doesn’t _want_ to imagine having anything else. This is his home, the place where he belongs, the corner of the world his feet will never fail to find. Maybe he hadn’t been born a chosen one, fated to play volleyball from birth and change the face of the sport, maybe that’s the ugly truth, but still. Volleyball is _his_ in a way nothing else ever will, in a way no one else can ever have.

More than anyone or not, Tooru knows he belongs in a court. 

That’s why he’ll fight like hell to keep his place. 

“In another life, I’d probably still be a volleyball player.”

Sugawara makes a noise of assent, even as he says, “That’s not the point of imagining another life.”

Tooru considers this. “I think I’d make a good setter.”

“That still makes you a volleyball player!”

“But now I’m a _setter._ ”

Sugawara chuckles, but it’s clear that he’s also seriously thinking about it. 

“Yeah, probably,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean. You’re athletic and perceptive. You’d be really good at making plays that’ll take advantage of your opponent’s weak spots. I mean you do that already as a middle blocker so it’s not that big a stretch to think about you transitioning from being the blocking playmaker to the team’s actual playmaker. But I think... Your biggest strength as a setter would be that you can bring out the best in all your teammates. You’d have the power to draw out their fullest potential. You’d probably give them tosses that’s easiest for them to hit, and because of that, everyone on your team will always be able to play at their maximum power. It’s the same thing you do to your fellow blockers now, just different in some ways. It’s not that hard to imagine because... Whether as a setter or a middle blocker, it’s like you were meant to play volleyball, Oikawa-san. Maybe that’s why you can’t imagine another life. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“Mr. Refreshing...” Tooru breathes, stunned and quietly amazed. He doesn’t know what to say to that, not to everything that was said, and not to the boy who said them. They’d spent so much time sniping on court, Tooru didn’t think Sugawara could think so much of him, could see so much good, and be unafraid to say them.

How is it that this boy he’d only known for a while always just manages to find the words that would make Tooru’s heart melt, words that Tooru wants to hear, been needing to hear since the first time he jumped against Ushiwaka’s unstoppable force and fell against it? It’s so easy for him, so simple – _You belong to the court more than anyone. I’ll catch up so I can walk with you! You’re exactly where you need to be._ Tooru wants to coat himself in the warmth of those words, to bask in the joy it gives him, to savor the feeling of accepting for himself his own worth. 

That knowing there will always be people he can’t touch doesn’t erase his own merit, doesn’t make him any less significant, any less valuable. 

Any less deserving of his place.

(And besides.

He’ll catch up to those geniuses eventually.) 

This is a big thing to believe. He can’t fully wrap his mind around it, can’t come around to it all the way, right away. But. 

Having this moment where he knows for himself that it’s true-

It’s a start.

Tooru closes his eyes and sighs, a smile playing on his lips. His bumps shoulders with Sugawara companionably and breathes in the scent of the other boy’s apple shampoo. “What about you? Still a volleyball player in another life, too?”

Sugawara is quiet. He doesn’t speak for a long enough moment that has Tooru opening his eyes to check on the other. 

Sugawara’s drawn his knees to his chest and is watching the drills almost absently. He looks far-away, distant, and so very sad. Finally, he says, “I was a setter once.”

What?

“Once?” Tooru repeats hesitantly.

“I mean, I started playing volleyball as a setter.”

But then... “Why did you-“

“Switch?” Sugawara finishes, smiling wryly now. “It’s nothing grand, really. No life-altering backstory or anything. I just wasn’t a very good setter. And my old team... It wasn’t as big as Seijoh. We didn’t have a lot of budget. Or a proper coach, even. And then my second year, there was a freshman who joined the club who was better than me, and. Even though we were small, we still wanted to win games so. My... captain took me aside and told me that-” Sugawara cuts himself off, heaves a long, slow breath. His hold on his legs tighten as he swallows. He takes a moment to breathe deeply again and forges on, “He said we didn’t have the resources to train two setters at once, and since I was obviously the inferior model...” He makes a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I could still stay in the team, if I wanted but. Maybe I could be the manager instead, because at least we didn’t already have one of those.”

Something in Tooru crumbles at that, all his preconceived notions about who Sugawara was, why he acted the way he did. Now Tooru understands the crippling doubt that sometimes took Sugawara over that he couldn’t quite explain. Why Sugawara could be so good but so scared at the exact same time. 

_I’m not delusional._

_Maybe some sort of miracle happened._

_This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this with a team._

Why Sugawara reacted so strongly to Tooru’s greatest fears. 

Because.

_Maybe I could be the manager instead, because at least we didn’t already have one of those._

He’s already lived through them himself. 

“He said-“ Tooru can’t even say it, it feels so foul on his tongue.

“I mean, it’s not like I disagreed,” Sugawara says, which just makes it _worse._ “I wanted the team to win. I would have given up my position regardless, if that’s what it took. I just... I didn’t want to _quit._ But you know, for a while, I really thought about it. Maybe volleyball... We can’t help the things we love, but sometimes you’re just not meant for it and maybe I had to learn to accept that. I wasn’t a contributing member of the team, so I was basically useless anyway. Why would I even stay?

“But I really _wanted_ to. I loved volleyball. I didn’t want to just give it up but I have my pride, too, you know. I didn’t want to be allowed to stay on the team out of pity. _The senior who wasn’t good enough and got replaced..._ I didn’t want to think about that. I thought, it’s true the team doesn’t have a manager. But it also doesn’t have a libero. So I went to our neighborhood volleyball association and begged them to help me train. That’s where I met Makki – pinkish hair, wing spiker? He played our last game in the try-outs.” 

Number 10. Tooru nods, yes, he remembers Tweedledee. 

“My first experiences as a libero were trying to go after _his_ spikes,” Sugawara explains, smiling slightly. “I worked my ass off. I trained the hardest I’ve ever trained. I told myself I’d become so good, no would would ever look at me and dare to feel sorry. I was actually proud of myself for a moment. But then when I went back to the team, my captain didn’t even blink. Just put me in the lineup because there was nobody else.”

“Your captain was a dick.”

“Oikawa-san!”

“Well, he _was,_ ” Tooru says, shaking with the kind of rage that he’s only ever felt towards Ushiwaka. He feels fiercely protective of that young Sugawara, for a reason that’s hard for him to grasp. Perhaps it’s because that could have easily been Tooru’s life, had a few things gone differently for him. Perhaps it’s because that reality is everything Tooru’s been afraid of – being replaced, having his position taken away from him by people who didn’t even try half as hard to be twice as good, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he’d tried all he could and it still wasn’t enough. Perhaps it’s just because it’s Sugawara. 

Sugawara, who lived through all that, and still smiles for his teammates, bright and refreshing, always ready with a thumbs up and a _you can do it_ that never fails to boost everyone’s confidence. Sugawara, the naive idealist who doesn’t play volleyball for merit and spouts platitudes like a saint and knows much more about what it feels like to lose than Tooru ever did, after all. Sugawara, who got so angry at Tooru for daring to believe he can fight on his own. Of course he’d be angry. Who wouldn’t, when everything Tooru’s tried to reject had been everything Sugawara ever wanted. Belonging. Becoming a true part of something. 

He’d told Tooru _depend on me,_ and it was like the lifeboat that had carried Tooru through the raging waves and the whistling wind and the dark, stormy skies of Tooru’s troubled heart, when Tooru had been drowning without even knowing.

But maybe.

Sugawara had needed that lifeboat, too.

“He was just doing what’s good for the team,” Sugawara tries weakly.

“So he was a misguided dick,” Tooru concedes uncharitably. “But still a dick. You know what a captain is supposed to do, Mr. Refreshing? A captain is supposed to lead, to guide, to inspire. He’s supposed to keep the team together, to protect them, to forge the path forward for everyone else to follow. He does _not_ give up on any one member of his team. He does _not_ make them feel worthless. He does _not_ abandon them whenever he feels like it, because it’s _convenient_ for him. A captain who makes his members question their value to the sport that they love is _not a captain at all._ Do you hear me, Sugawara? Don’t listen to him. You’re good enough.

“After all, you’re in Seijoh now. In the first string. A future starter and my future partner and one day, we’ll beat Shiratorizawa and Ushiwaka-chan and shove it to all the geniuses in the world, so. _Who’s laughing now._ ”

Tooru glares at Sugawara, daring him to defend that asshole son of a bitch one more fucking time to Tooru’s face.

But Sugawara only gives him that smile he’d given on tanabata, a small, contained star, shining where only Tooru can see. “So you _do_ know my name. I was wondering about that.”

“That... That’s all you took away from my speech?” Tooru demands incredulously. “How dare you, that was a _good speech!_ Probably deserving of a Nobel Prize and a movie deal and all you have to say for yourself is _ohmygod, Oikawa-san does know my name, lol, life goal achieved!_ Like, of course I do! We’re teammates, aren’t we?”

Sugawara laughs wetly, brushing his hands against his eyes and sniffing silently. Tooru benevolently pretends not to notice. “Yes, we are,” he says between laugh-cries. He hiccups once and smiles up at Tooru once again. “You would make a great captain someday, Oikawa-san.”

And. 

Oh. 

Tooru flushes, looking away from Sugawara’s earnest, open face, feeling abruptly embarrassed. He looks down on his lap, fingers folding over each other, feeling the rising warmth jumbling all his thoughts out of order. He clears his throat. “Right.”

“Right.”

“A-anyway,” Tooru clears his throat again, trying to steer his brain back to the correct path. “It’s not like you regret being a libero, right?”

“I love being a libero,” Sugawara answers readily. “I can’t imagine playing any other position now, honestly. And it’s not like switching positions has never happened to any other player in the history of volleyball. It’s just... sometimes I think maybe I could have fought for it.”

“Yeah, you could have.”

Sugawara throws him another wry smile and Tooru shrugs, not really one to mince words when it comes to his two favorite topics in the world: volleyball and spite. He narrows his eyes as he thinks, running his mind through what he knew about libero restrictions in the current rule format the Interhigh is following. “You know, this is a far better team than your previous one ever will be.”

“Yes, Oikawa-san, I think you’ve made that abundantly clear-“

“That means it’s very adaptable. So say, if the setter becomes ineligible to take the set, they can definitely handle it if the libero becomes second contact. They probably won’t even blink. Whatever it takes to win, right?”

Sugawara eyes go wide in realization. 

Tooru smirks. “Iwa-chan!” he calls, waving his best friend over. 

All that practice has apparently done nothing to lessen Iwa-chan’s suspicion any. “I don’t like the look on your face, Shittykawa.”

“What, smug superiority?” Tooru can’t resist but ask. “Of course, Iwa-chan, I understand that there are just some things inferior beings will never-“ He recoils from the strength of the jab. “Iwa-chan, mean!” 

“What’s this all about?”

Tooru gestures at Sugawara, clambering to his feet beside him. “Mr. Refreshing has something he wants to ask you.”

Iwa-chan’s face shifts to open curiosity. “Sugawara?”

Sugawara takes a stray ball in his hands and hands it to Iwa-chan tentatively. When Iwa-chan takes it, he bows. “Please.”

Iwa-chan’s brows furrow in confusion. “You want me to spike some balls for you to receive?”

Tooru can’t help it, he laughs. Iwa-chan turns a warning glance on him and Tooru raises his hands. “Oh, Iwa-chan, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“No, ah, actually...” Sugawara grins brightly, no sign of his earlier emotional upheaval on his face as he points at himself and declares decisively.

“I’m going to set it.”

  


* * *

  


“Hey, Mr. Refreshing.”

Practice has ended a few minutes ago. The three of them had all asked to stay later so they can practice their new combinations with Sugawara setting for Tooru and Iwa-chan both. 

Sugawara turns from overseeing the volleyball cart at the sound of Tooru’s voice. “Hm?”

“I’ve been thinking, now that I’ve unlocked your tragic backstory-“

“I told you, there’s nothing tragic about it!”

“And our friendship has obviously levelled up a couple of stages after our touching and emotional heart-to-heart-“

“ _Try_ to make it sound more embarrassing, why don’t you.”

Tooru ignores him. “You deserve a new nickname!”

Sugawara smiles faintly at that. “Getting tired of Mr. Refreshing already?”

“Well, it’s kinda long,” Tooru says, shifting sheepishly. “Also, I meant for it be insulting without you knowing-“

“Oh, I know,” Sugawara cuts in, deadpan.

“Why don’t you just call him Sugawara like a normal person?” Iwa-chan pipes up, walking up to the cart and dropping the balls he’s collected from the other side of the gym. 

“But it’s so boring! I’d expect something like that from a boring person person like you, Iwa-chan, but for someone like me-“

Iwa-chan inspects his fists. “It’s like he’s asking for it,” he comments to Sugawara idly. 

“Maybe Oikawa-san is an M?” Sugawara asks, tapping a finger to his lips.

“I can _hear_ you two, you know!”

“In any case,” Sugawara says, not even looking sorry about his insinuations. “I guess my name _is_ quite long so it might be a little inconvenient on court.”

Tooru points at him, earlier slight forgotten. “See? He gets it, Iwa-chan!”

“Shittykawa, _I know my name is long_ doesn’t automatically equal _give me a stupid, cutesy nickname I don’t want._ ”

Tooru ignores him, too. “I know, I know!” he cries excitedly, pointing again. “What about Suga-chan?”

“In one ear...” Iwa-chan trails off, shaking his head. “But it’s actually not that bad an idea. If you’re alright with it, Suga.”

Suga-chan blinks. Reddens slightly. “Um.”

“It’s cute like you!”

Suga-chan’s grin sharpens. “Oikawa-san, you think I’m cute?”

“Yeah, like you’re even smaller than Iwa-chan, and that’s saying something because Iwa-chan is already pretty small.”

“I suddenly feel less charitable towards this nickname business,” Suga-chan mutters.

Iwa-chan just raises his brows. “I don’t think it’s good idea for you to antagonize the man with the balls, Shittykawa. Watch your back.”

Tooru bursts out laughing. “And we can call Iwa-chan ‘man with the balls!’ It’s perfect!” 

Iwa-chan spikes. Tooru dodges, still laughing. Suga-chan perks up at the mention of this and goes, “So this means I can give you guys nicknames, too, right? It’s only fair.”

“But you have to think about it very hard, Suga-chan,” Tooru tells him seriously. “After all, only the best of the best can grace my-“

“Why don’t I just make you one to match?” Suga-chan cuts him off. The tone of his voice is sweet, but Tooru really has to do something about this terrible habit of his, cutting Tooru off when he speaks. Everything Tooru has to say is important and valid and must be heard by all.

“...Kawa-chan.”

Now it’s Tooru’s turn to feel flustered, cheeks warming. He wonders why. It’s not like he’s never had a nickname before. Iwa-chan certainly never runs out of insulting ones to call him. But.

Kawa-chan.

“It’s cute like you!”

The warmth intensifies. “Suga-chan, you think I’m cute?”

“Yeah, like you throw tantrums and act like a child ninety percent of the time, so.”

Iwa-chan snorts. “Only ninety?”

“And here I thought we were having a moment!”

“We are!” Suga-chan affirms jovially, pushing his fist out in front of him. “Suga-chan, Kawa-chan and Iwa... san. The three of us, we’ll all stand together as comrades one day and then we’ll become the best team in Japan!”

Iwa-chan actually chuckles, pumped up at being able to find someone who’s just as brazen as he was. He meets Suga-chan’s fist with his own and repeats, “The best team in Japan.”

Tooru puts his hands on his hips and declares, superiorly, “You guys are losers.”

“No, we’re not!” Suga-chan cries. “We’re the best team in Japan!”

Iwa-chan just gives him a Look.

Tooru squirms under that look for a moment, before he relents, trying to look as grudging as possible as he joins his fist into the link. He meets two different knuckles, one warmer than the other, both roughened by constant practice and play, chasing after what many would think an impossible dream, like any other good athlete in the world. He lets himself smile at them indulgently. “Now that you have me, you are.”

Iwa-chan shakes his head at that, looking fond despite the obvious painstaking effort he’s taking to frown. Suga-chan just laughs his tinkling little laugh, light and free, painting such a pretty picture on his face made for happiness.

The best in Japan. 

Really, these two.

But then again. 

Maybe.

If it’s a team with the three of them in it...

Maybe Tooru can find for himself a dream beyond Ushiwaka’s shadow, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- YOU CAN BET YOUR LIFE that it was MatsuHana that goaded Suga and Iwa into that cosplay situation. It's Makki who watches the 'volleyball anime' (lol) religiously, mostly for the memes, so they knew the 'rival player named Ushizumi' (lol). As for how Suga managed to convince Iwa? It wasn't actually all that sinister. He just said, "Imagine the look on Oikawa-san's _face._ " And Iwa was like, fuck yeah, it's about time I pay this fucker back for every fucking aneurysm he's ever given me. But they really did have good intentions at heart, like they just wanted to keep Oikawa from getting too deep into his head about the upcoming prelims. You know what they say about the road to hell.
> 
> \- The tactic Suga talks about is the same one Karasuno used against Ushi, yes. I'm really sorry. There's only so much strategy I can get researching volleyball, so.
> 
> \- Also, it's my major headcanon that OiSuga are the kind of partners that amazing together, like truly fearsome pair when they're both on the court, perfectly in sync with each other and all that, but they bicker over every single thing every single time, yes, _exactly_ like an old married couple. 
> 
> \- I feel like one of the things that really drew me to OiSuga is the fact that they're both genuinely struggling with worth. It's just that they chose to deal with it differently in canon and that's what so interesting about the two of them together. In some ways, they're each other's foils and in others, each other's parallels. I know it's very self-indulgent of me to have them work through their issues together (I feel like it's become a major Theme at this point, idrk, as if I know anything about themes), but I wanted this to be the foundation upon which they build their relationship and partnership on in this au and honestly, I'm v v soft ok, I just love OiSuga so much, and they deserve the WORLD so they're going to get it. That's it, that's all, I'm shutting up now, thank u so much for coming to my ted talk.
> 
> \- I don't know if Suga's backstory is possible in real life, but I kinda wanted for Suga to still have the same thought process about being replaced by his junior, sort of, it's just that he came to a different solution, considering the differing situation. Because here, he belonged to a school without any kind of prior reputation, a capable coach, a team that respected him and a captain who believed in him. I'm sure Suga's spirit is plenty strong on its own but I also think that it was his team and experiences that helped him really cultivate that spirit. Well, him and the other third years, honestly, who supported each other and held each other up through that time when Karasuno was still the disgraced nesting ground of the flightless crows. 
> 
> \- 'I'm going to set it' is this au's equivalent of 'I'm going to hit it' because that moment is, in my opinion, one of the most iconic Suga moments ever, so I had to find a way to put that in because it Needs to happen here, too. Obligatory disclaimer: This idea is not originally mine, I got it from canon. 
> 
> \- I know that Oikawa's ambitious, so it may seem like it's out of character for him to be the one who has to be coaxed into the Nationals dream. Maybe it is. But at the same time, to me, it's like he's so strongly fixated on beating Ushijima first ('All that's left is that bastard Ushiwaka.'), that his focus becomes a little narrow. Like, for now, he's entire being is all about targeting Ushijima - his one repeated unattainable victory thus far - and everything else will just have to wait to be conquered later, when he's finally settled this long-overdue score. I hope it makes sense.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: vii. light the way to tomorrow


End file.
